Sfti 


L  PIERCE,, 
DLD  BOOK  SHOP, 
2130  Oxford  St., 
Berkeley,      -      ( 


«     «    I    , ' 


^t/i 


<r  /     s 


■ 


A 

DAUGHTEB    OF   HETH 


BY 

WILLIAM   BLACK 


"  If  Jacob  take  a  wife  of  the  laughters  of  Heth,  such  as  these 
which  are  of  the  daughters  >f  the  )&tv\,  wh..t  good  s'aal'.  ti/  life 
do  me  ? " 


NEW  AND   HE  VISED  EDITION 


NEW  YORK:    HARPER   AND   BROTHERS 

1892 


LONDON  : 

PRINTED  BY  WILLIAM  CLOWE3  AND  90N3,    LIMITED; 
3TAMFORD  3TRRET  AXD  CHARIXO  CR093. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


I  have  long  wished  to  place  before  the  public  an  edition  of 
these  novels  of  mine  which  should  have  at  least  the  mechanical 
merit  of  uniformity.  Also  I  had  in  contemplation,  especially 
with  regard  to  the  earlier  volumes,  a  large  measure  of  re-shaping 
and  re-writing ;  so  that  books  composed  amid  stress  and  turmoil 
might  gain  something  from  the  comparative  leisure  of  later  years. 
But  this  wider  project  I  found  impracticable.  For  one  thing,  it 
would  have  taken  a  few  lifetimes  to  accomplish;  then  again,  it 
was  just  possible  that  a  certain  freshness  and  rudeness  of  touch 
might  have  been  ill  replaced  by  a  nicer  precision.  Nevertheless 
in  many  minor  ways  these  pages  have  now  been  thoroughly 
revised;  verbal  and  other  inaccuracies  have  been  corrected; 
crooked  places  have  been  made  straight;  conversations  condensed; 
while  a  considerable  number  of  those  little  playfulnesses  which 
the  printer  somehow  mysteriously  manages,  when  one  is  not  watch- 
ing, to  introduce  into  the  text,  have  been  removed.  It  only  remains 
for  me,  in  submitting  this  new  series  to  the  reading  public,  to 
express  my  deep  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  constant  favour  and 
kindness  I  have  already  and  for  so  long  a  time  experienced  at 
their  hands. 

W.  B. 
London,  January,  1892. 


26402 L 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/daughterofhethOOblacricJj 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

FAG  J 

I. — Coquette's  Arrival  ......        1 

II. — Coquette's  Religion  .        .        , 

6 

III. — A  Penitent      .... 

14 

IV. — An  unexpected  Visitor     .        . 

22 

V. — Coquette's  Music      .        . 

28 

VI. — Earlshope        .... 

S6 

VII. — The  Crucifix    .... 

42 

VI II. — Saltcoats         .... 

47 

IX.— Coquette's  Promise  . 

55 

X. — The  Schoolmaster    . 

60 

XI. — A  Meeting  on  the  Moor    . 

68 

XI  I. — Coquette's  Conquests 

75 

XIII. — A  Horoscope     . 

81 

XIV. — Sir  Peter  and  Lady  Drum 

85 

X  V. — A  dangerous  Adventure   . 

94 

X  V I. — Coquette  leaves  Airlie    . 

102 

XVII. — Lochfyne.         .         .         .         « 

107 

X  MIL— Coquette  sails  to  the  North    . 

113 

X I X. — Coquette  discourses  . 

121 

X  X. — Letters  from  Airlie 

126 

X  X  I. — Coquette  is  troubled        .         , 

184 

XXII. — On  the  Seashore        .        • 

141 

XXIII. — Coquette  begins  to  fear  . 

,    14»; 

XXIV. — Touching  certain  Problems 

151 

XXV.— Coquette's  Presentiments 

157 

XXVI.— Confession  at  last    .         .         , 

168 

XXVII. — Loin  de  France 

,     170 

XXVIII. — After  many  Days     •         • 

,     176 

XXIX. — Coquette's  Dreams   . 

181 

XXX.— On  the  Way      . 

.     188 

XXXI. — An  awful  Visitor     .         • 

.     193 

Vlll 


CONTENTS, 


CHAP. 

PAGE 

XXXII. —In  the  Springtime    ....                 .201 

XXXIII. — Over  the  Moor          .        . 

.     204 

XXXIV. — Lord  Earlshope's  Cave     . 

.     210 

XXXV. — The  Nemesis  of  Love 

.     215 

XXXVI.— The  last  Day  at  Airlie    . 

.     221 

XXXVII.— Coquette  in  Town     . 

»_      < 

.     226 

XXXVIII. — All  about  Kelvin-side 

.     233 

XXXIX. — Lady  Drum's  Dinner-party 

.     238 

XL. — The  Kosebud    . 

.     245 

XLI. — TnE  Whaup  becomes  anxious     . 

.     250 

XLII. — At  the  Theatre        .         .         , 

.     255 

XLIII. — Coquette  is  told       .         . 

.     262 

XLIV. — Coquette's  Forebodings   . 

.     271 

XLV. — A  Legend  op  Earlshope    . 

.     274 

XL VI. — The  Minister's  Publisher. 

.     280 

XLVII. — An  Apparition. 

.     287 

XLVIII. — Earlshope  is  invaded 

.     291 

XLIX. — Coquette's  Song 

.     295 

L. — Coquette  foksakes  her  Friend 

.     800 

LI. — A  Secret  of  the  Sea 

.     309 

LII. — Consent    .... 

.     313 

LI II. — The  pale  Bride         .         .         , 

.     320 

LIV. — Husband  and  Wife    . 

.     326 

LV. — The  Churchyard  on  the  Moor 

.     333 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH 


CHAPTER  L 
coquette's  arrival. 

The  tide  of  battle  had  flowed  onward  from  the  village  to 
the  Manse.  The  retreating  party,  consisting  of  the  Minis- 
ter's five  sons,  were  driven  back  by  force  of  numbers, 
contesting  every  inch  of  the  ground.  Hope  had  deserted 
them  ;  and  there  now  remained  to  them  but  the  one  chance 
— to  reach  the  fortress  of  the  Manse  in  safety,  and  seek  the 
shelter  of  its  great  stone  wall. 

The  enemy  numbered  over  a  dozen  ;  and  the  clangour 
and  clamour  of  the  pursuit  waxed  stronger  as  they  pressed 
on  the  small  and  compact  body  of  five.  The  weapons  on 
both  sides  were  stones  picked  up  from  the  moorland  road  ; 
and  the  terrible  aim  of  the  Whaup — the  eldest  of  the 
Minister's  boys — had  disfigured  more  than  one  mother's  son 
of  the  turbulent  crowd  that  pursued.  He  alone — a  long- 
legged  Herculean  lad  of  eighteen — kept  in  front  of  his 
let  renting  brothers,  facing  the  foe  boldly,  and  directing  his 
swift,  successive  discharges  with  a  deadly  accuracy  of  curve 
upon  the  noses  of  the  foremost.  But  his  valour  was  of  no 
avail.  All  seemed  over.  Their  courage  began  to  partake  of  the 
recklessness  of  despair.  Nature  seemed  to  sympathise  with 
this  disastrous  fate  :  and  to  the  excited  eyes  of  the  fugitives 
it  appeared  that  the  sun  was  overcast — that  the  moor 
around  was  blacker  and  more  silent  than  ever — and  that  the 
far  stretch  of  these:!,  with  the  gloomy  hills  of  Arran,  had 
grown   dark  as   if   with  a  coming  storm.     Thus  does  the 

B 


2   ..  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

human  mind  confer  an  anthropomorphic  sentiment  on  all 
things,  animate  and  inanimate  :  a  profound  observation 
which  occurred  to  Mr.  Gillespie,  the  Schoolmaster,  who, 
being  on  one  occasion  in  the  town  of  Ayr,  when  horse- 
racing  or  some  such  godless  diversion  wTas  going  forward, 
and  having,  in  a  very  small  and  crowded  hostelry,  meekly 
enquired  for  some  boiled  eggs,  was  thus  indignantly 
remonstrated  with  by  the  young  woman  in  charge  :  "  Losh 
bless  me  !  Do  ye  think  the  hens  can  remember  to  lay  eggs 
in  all  this  bustle  and  hurry  !  " 

Finally,  the  retreating  party  turned  and  ran — ignomini- 
ously,  pell-mell — until  they  had  gained  the  high  stone  wall 
surrounding  the  Manse.  They  darted  into  the  garden, 
slammed  the  door  to,  and  barricaded  it  ;  the  Whaup 
sending  up  a  peal  of  defiant  laughter  that  made  the  solemn 
echoes  of  the  old-fashioned  house  ring  again.  Outside  this 
shriek  of  joy  was  taken  as  a  challenge  ;  and  the  party  on  the 
other  side  of  the  wall  returned  a  roar  of  mingled  mockery 
and  anger  which  was  not  pleasant  to  hear.  It  meant  a 
blockade  and  bombardment ;  with  perhaps  a  fierce  assault 
when  the  patience  of  the  besiegers  should  give  way.  But 
the  Whaup  was  not  of  a  kind  to  indulge  in  indolent 
security  when  his  enemies  were  murmuring  hard  by.  In  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  he  and  his  brothers  had 
wheeled  up  to  the  wall  a  couple  of  empty  barrels,  and  across 
these  was  hurriedly  thrown  a  broad  plank.  The  Whaup 
filled  his  hands  with  the  gravel  of  the  garden  walk,  and 
jumped  up  on  the  board.  The  instant  that  his  head 
appeared  above  the  wall,  there  was  a  yell  of  execration.  He 
had  just  time  to  discharge  his  two  handf  uls  of  gravel  upon  the 
besiegers,  when  a  shower  of  stones  was  directed  at  him,  and 
he  ducked  his  head. 

"  This  is  famous  !  "  he  cried.  "  This  is  grand  !  It  beats 
Josephus  !     Mair  gravel,  Jock — mair  gravel,  Jock  !  " 

Now,  in  the  Manse  of  Airlie,  there  was  an  edition  of 
Josephus'  works,  in  several  volumes,  which  was  the  only 
profane  reading  allowed  to  the  boys  on  Sunday.  Conse- 
quently it  was  much  studied — especially  the  plates  of  it ; 
and  one  of  these  plates  represented  the  siege  of  Jerusalem, 
with  the  Romans  being  killed  by  stones  thrown  from  the 
wall.    No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the  Whaup  mounted  on  the 


COQUETTE'S  ARRIVAL.  3 

empty  barrels,  than  his  brothers  recognised  the  position. 
They  were  called  upon  to  engage  in  a  species  of  warfare 
familiar  to  them.  They  formed  themselves  into  line,  and 
handed  up  to  the  Whanp  successive  supplies  of  stones  and 
gravel,  with  a  precision  they  could  not  have  exceeded  had 
they  actually  served  in  one  of  the  legions  of  Titus. 

The  Whaup,  however,  dared  not  discharge  his  ammunition 
with  regularity.  He  had  to  descend  to  feints  ;  for  he  was  in 
a  most  perilous  position,  and  might  at  any  moment  have  had 
his  head  rendered  amorphous.  He  therefore  from  time  to  time 
showed  his  hand  over  the  wall ;  the  expected  volley  of  stones 
followed  ;  and  then  he  sprang  up  to  return  the  compliment 
with  all  his  might.  Howls  of  rage  greeted  each  of  his 
efforts  ;  and,  indeed,  the  turmoil  rose  to  an  extraordinary 
pitch.  The  besiegers  were  furious.  They  were  in  an  open 
position,  while  their  foe  was  well  intrenched;  and  no  man 
can  get  a  handful  of  gravel  pitched  into  his  face,  and  also 
preserve  his  temper,  llevenge  was  out  of  the  question. 
The  sagacious  Whaup  never  appeared  when  they  expected  him : 
and  when  he  did  appear,  it  was  an  instantaneous  up  and 
down,  giving  them  no  chance  at  all  of  doing  him- an  injury. 
They  raved  and  stormed ;  and  the  more  bitterly  they 
shouted  names  at  him,  and  the  more  fiercely  they  heaped 
insults  upon  him,  the  more  joyously  he  laughed.  The  noise, 
without  and  within,  was  appalling  ;  never,  in  the  memory 
of  man,  had  such  an  uproar  resounded  around  the  quiet 
.Manse  of  Airlie. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  scared  silence  within  the  walls,  and 
a  rapid  disappearance  of  the  younger  of  the  besieged. 

"  Oh,  Tarn,  here's  fa  it  her  I  "  cried  one. 

But  Tarn — elsewhere  named  the  Whaup — was  too  excited 
to  hear.  He  was  shouting  and  laughing,  hurling  gravel  and 
stones  at  his  enemies,  when 

When  a  tall,  stern-faced,  grey-haired  man,  who  wore  a 
rusty  black  coat  and  a  white  neckcloth,  and  who  bore  in  his 
hand,  ominously,  a  horsewhip,  walked  firmly  and  sedately 
across  the  garden.  The  hero  of  the  day  was  still  on  the 
barrels,  taunting  his  foes,  and  helping  himself  to  the  store 
of  ammunition  which  his  colleagues  had  piled  upon  the 
plank. 

"Who's   lang-leggit  now?      Where  are  the  Minister's 

b  2 


4  A  DA  UGHTEk  OF  HETH. 

chickens  now  ?  Why  dinna  you  go  and  wash  your  noses  in 
the  burn  ?  " 

The  next  moment  the  Whaup  uttered  what  can  only  be 
described  as  a  squeal.  He  had  not  been  expecting  an 
attack  from  the  rear  ;  and  there  was  fright  as  well  as  pain 
in  the  yell  which  followed  the  startling  cut  across  the  legs 
which  brought  him  down.  In  fact,  the  lithe  curl  of  the 
Avhip  round  his  calves  was  at  once  a  mystery  and  a  horror  ; 
and  he  tumbled  rather  than  jumped  from  the  plank,  only  to 
find  himself  confronted  by  his  father,  whose  threatening 
eye  and  terrible  voice  soon  explained  the  mystery. 

"  How  daur  ye,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cassilis,  "  how  daur 
ye,  sir,  transform  my  house  into  a  Bedlam  !  For  shame, 
sir,  that  your  years  have  brought  ye  no  more  sense  than  to 
caper  wi'  a  lot  of  schoolboys.  Have  ye  no  more  respect  for 
yourself — have  ye  no  more  respect  for  the  college  you  have 
come  home  from — than  to  behave  yourself  like  a  farm- 
callant,  and  make  yourself  the  byword  of  the  neighbourhood  ? 
You  are  worse  than  the  youngest  in  the  house " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  the  Manse,"  said  the  Whaup, 
wondering  whither  his  brothers  had  run. 

"So  much  the  worse — so  much  the  worse,"  said  the 
Minister,  severely,  "  that  ye  have  no  better  guide  to  your 
conduct  than  the  fear  o'  being  caught.  Why,  sir,  when 
I  was  your  age,  I  was  busier  with  my  Greek  Testament  than 
with  flinging  names  at  a  wheen  laddies  !  " 

"  It  was  mair  than  names,  as  ye  might  hae  seen,"  remarked 
the  Whaup,  confidently. 

Indeed,  he  was  incorrigible,  and  the  Minister  turned 
away.  His  eldest  son  had  plenty  of  brains,  plenty  cf 
courage,  and  an  excellent  physique ;  but  he  could  not  be 
brought  to  acquire  a  sense  of  the  proper  gravity  or  duties  of 
mimhood,  nor  yet  could  he  be  prevailed  on  to  lay  aside  the 
mischievous  tricks  of  his  youth.  He  was  the  terror  of  the 
parish.  It  was  hoped  that  a  winter  at  Glasgow  University 
would  tame  down  the  Whaup  ;  but  he  returned  to  Airlie 
worse  than  ever,  and  formed  his  innocent  brothers  into  a 
regular  band  of  marauders,  of  whom  all  honest  people  were 
afraid.  The  long-legged  daredevil  of  the  Manse,  with  his 
boldness,  his  cunning,  and  his  agility,  left  neither  garden, 
nor  farmyard,  nor  kitchen  alone.     Worthy  villagers  were 


COQUETTE'S  ARRIVAL,  5 

tripped  up  by  bits  of  invisible  twine.  Mysterious  knocks 
on  the  window  woke  them  at  the  dead  of  night.  When 
they  were  surprised  that  the  patience  of  their  sitting  hen 
did  not  meet  with  its  usual  reward,  they  found  that  chalk 
eggs  had  been  substituted  for  the  natural  ones.  Their  cats 
came  home  with  walnut-shells  on  their  feet.  Stable  doors 
were  unaccountably  opened.  Furious  bulls  were  found 
lassoed,  so  that  no  man  dare  approach  them.  The  work  of 
the  Whaup  was  everywhere  evident — it  wras  always  the 
Whanp.  And  then  that  young  gentleman  would  come 
quietly  into  the  villagers'  houses,  and  chat  pleasantly  with 
them,  and  confide  to  them  his  great  grief  that  his  younger 
brother,  Wattie — notwithstanding  that  people  thought  him 
a  quiet,  harmless,  pious,  and  rather  sneaking  boy — was 
such  a  desperate  hand  for  mischief.  Some  believed  him  ; 
others  reproached  him  for  his  wickedness  in  blaming  his 
own  sins  upon  the  only  one  of  the  Minister's  family  who 
had  an  appearance  of  Christian  humility  and  grace. 

When  the  Minister  had  gone  into  the  house,  the  Whaup 
• — in  nowise  downcast  by  his  recent  misfortune,  although  he 
still  was  aware  of  an  odd  sensation  about  the  legs — mounted 
once  more  upon  the  barrels  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy.  He 
had  no  wish  to  renew  the  fight ;  for  Saturday  was  his 
father's  day  for  study  and  meditation  ;  no  stir  or  sound 
was  allowed  in  the  place  from  morning  till  night ;  and 
certainly,  had  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Manse  known 
that  their  father  was  indoors,  they  would  have  let  the 
village  boys  rave  outside  in  safety.  Cool  and  confident  as 
he  was,  the  Whaup  did  not  care  to  bring  his  father  out  a 
second  time  ;  and  so  he  got  up  on  the  barricades  merely  for 
the  sake  of  information. 

The  turmoil  had  evidently  quieted  down,  partly  through 
the  ignominious  silence  of  the  besieged,  and  partly  through 
the  appearance  of  a  new  object  of  public  attention.  The 
heads  of  the  dozen  lads  outside  were  now  turned  towards  the 
village,  whence  there  was  seen  coming  along  the  road  the 
Minister's  dog-cart,  driven  by  his  ancient  henchman, 
Andrew  Bogue.  Beside  the  driver  sat  some  fair  creature  in 
fluttering  white  and  yellow — an  apparition  that  seldom  met 
the  vision  of  the  inhabitants  of  Airlie.  The  Whaup  knew 
that  this  young  lady  was  his  cousin  from  France,  who  was 


6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

now,  being  an  orphan,  and  having  completed  her  education, 
coming  to  live  at  the  Manse.  But  who  was  the  gentleman 
behind,  who  sat  with  his  arm  flung  carelessly  over  the  bar, 
while  he  smiled  and  chatted  to  the  girl,  who  had  half  tinned 
round  to  listen  to  him  ? 

"  Why,  it  is  Lord  Earlshope,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  his 
handsome  face  suddenly  assuming  a  frown.  "What  busi~ 
ness  has  Earlshope  to  talk  to  my  cousin  ?  " 

Presently  the  gentleman  let  himself  down  from  the  dog- 
cart, took  off  his  hat  to  her  who  had  been  his  companion, 
and  turned  and  went  alon^  the  road  a°:ain.  The  dosf-cart 
drove  up  to  the  door.  The  Whaup,  daring  his  enemies  to 
touch  him,  went  out  boldly,  and  proceeded  to  welcome  the 
new-comer  to  Airlie. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  my  cousin,"  he  said. 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  the  young  girl,  speaking  with  an 
accent  so  markedly  French  that  he  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment. But  then  she,  in  turn,  regarded  him:  for  a  moment 
with  a  pair  of  soft  dark  eyes,  and  he  forgot  her  accent.  He 
vaguely  knew  that  she  had  smiled  to  him  ;  and  that  the 
effect  of  the  smile  was  rather  bewildering — as  he  assisted  her 
down  from  the  dog- cart,  and  begged  her  to  come  in  through 
the  garden. 

CHAPTER  II. 

coquette's  religion. 

The  Whaup  was  convinced  that  he  had  never  seen  upon 
earth,  nor  yet  in  his  Sunday-morning  dreams  of  what 
heaven  might  be  like,  any  creature  half  so  beautiful,  and 
bewitching,  and  graceful,  as  the  young  girl  who  now  walked 
beside  him.  Yet  he  could  not  tell  in  what  lay  her  especial 
charm ;  for,  regarding  her  with  the  eye  of  a  critic,  the 
Whaup  observed  that  she  was  full  of  defects.  Her  face  was 
pale  and  French-looking  ;  and,  instead  of  the  rosy  bloom  of 
a  pretty  country  lass,  there  was  a  tinge  of  southern  sun  over 
her  complexion.  Then  her  hair  was  in  obvious  disorder — 
some  ragged  ends  of  silky  brown,  scattered  over  her  forehead 
in  Sir  Peter  Lely  fashion,  being  surmounted  by  a  piece  of 
yellow  silk  ribbon  ;  while  there  were  big  masses  behind  that 


COQUETTE'S  RELIGION.  7 

only  partially  revealed  a  shapely  neck.  Then  her  eyes, 
though  they  were  dark  and  expressive,  had  nothing  of  the 
keen  and  merry  look  of  your  bouncing  country  belle.  Nor 
was  there  anything  majestic  in  her  appearance  ;  although, 
to  be  sure,  she  walked  with  an  ease  and  grace  which  gave 
even  to  an  observer  a  sense  of  suppleness  and  pleasure. 
Certainly,  it  was  not  her  voice  which  had  captivated  him  ; 
for  when  he  at  first  heard  her  absurd  accent,  he  had  nearly 
burst  out  laughing.  Notwithstanding  all  which,  when  she 
turned  the  pale,  pretty,  foreign  face  to  him,  and  when  she 
Bald,  with  a  smile  that  lit  up  the  dark  eyes  and  showed  a 
glimpse  of  pearly  teeth — "  It  rains  not  always  in  your 
country,  then  ?  " — he  remarked  no  stiffness  in  her  speech, 
but  thought  she  spoke  in  music.  He  could  scarcely  answer 
her.  He  had  already  succumbed  to  the  spell  of  the  soft  eyes 
an  1  the  winning  voice  that  had  earned  for  this  young  lady, 
when  she  was  but  four  yeai*3  of  age,  the  unfair  name  of 
Co  [uette. 

"  Do  you  know  Lord  Earlshope  ?  "  he  said,  abruptly. 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  brief  glance  of  surprise. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  every  alteration  in  her  manner 
— and  every  new  position  of  her  figure — was  an  improve- 
ment. 

"  That  gentleman  who  did  come  with  us  ?  No  ;  I  do  not 
know  him." 

"  You  were  talking  to  him  as  if  you  did  know  him 
very  well,"  said  the  YVliaup,  sternly.  He  was  beginning 
to  suspect  this  cousin  of  his  of  being  a  deceitful  young 
]>  raon. 

••  I  had  great  pleasure  of  speaking  to  him.  lie  speaks 
French — he  is  very  agreeable.*1 

Look  here,"  said  the  Whan]),  with  a  Budden  knitting  of 
his  brow,  v'I  won't  have  you  talk  to  Earlshope,  if  VvHi  live  ia 
this  bouse.    Now,  oiind  I  " 

"What !  "  she  cried,  with  a  look  of  amused  wonder,  "  I  do 
think  you  are  jealous  of  me  already.  You  will  make  me — 
what  is  it  called  ?  wmitetue.     Is  it  not  a  lark  !  " 

She  smiled  as  she  looked  at  her  new  cousin.     The  Whaup 
at  to  recall  German  legends  of  the  devil  appearing  in  the 
shape  of  a  beautiful  woman. 

"Ladies  in  this  country  don't  use  expressions  like  that," 


8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

said  he ;  adding  scornfully,  "  If  that  is  a  French  custom, 
you'd  better  forget  it." 

"  Is  it  not  right  to  say  '  a  lark  ? ' "  she  asked,  gravely. 
"  Papa  used  to  say  that,  and  mamma  and  I  got  much  of  our 
English  from  him.     I  will  not  say  it  again,  if  you  wish." 

"  Did  you  call  it  English  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  some 
contempt. 

At  this  moment  the  Minister  came  out  from  the  door  of 
the  Manse,  and  approached  his  niece.  She  ran  to  him,  took 
both  Ms  hands  in  hers,  and  then  suddenly,  and  somewhat  to 
his  discomfiture,  kissed  him  ;  while  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  she  forgot  to  speak  her  broken  English,  and 
showered  upon  him  a  series  of  pretty  phrases  and  questions 
in  French. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  he  observed,  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  She  is  a  witch,"  said  the  Whaup  to  himself,  standing 
by,  and  observing  with  an  angry  satisfaction  that  this 
incomprehensible  foreigner,  no  matter  what  she  did  or  said, 
was  momentarily  growing  more  graceful.  The  charm  of  her 
appearance  increased  with  every  new  look  of  her  face,  with 
every  new  gesture  of  her  head.  And  when  she  suddenly 
seemed  to  perceive  that  her  uncle  had  not  understood  a  word 
of  her  tirade — and  when,  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush,  she 
threw  out  her  pretty  hands  in  a  dramatic  way,  and  gave  ever 
so  slight  a  shrug  with  her  small  shoulders — the  picture  of 
her  confusion  and  embarrassment  was  perfect. 

"  Oh,  she  is  an  actress — I  hate  actresses  ! "  said  the 
Whaup. 

Meanwhile  his  cousin  recovered  herself  and  began  to 
translate  into  stiff  and  curious  English  (watching  her  pro- 
nunciation carefully)  the  rapid  French  she  had  been  pouring 
out.     But  her  uncle  interrupted  her,  and  said — 

"  Come  into  the  house  first,  my  bairn,  and  we  will  have 
the  story  of  your  journey  afterwards.  Dear  me,  I  began  to 
think  ye  could  speak  nothing  but  that  unintelligible  Babel 
o'  a  tongue." 

So  he  led  her  into  the  house,  the  "Whaup  following  ;  and 
Catherine  Cassilis,  whom  they  had  been  taught  by  letter  to 
call  Coquette,  looked  round  upon  her  new  home. 

She  was  the  only  daughter  of  the  Minister's  only  brother, 
a  young  man  who  had  left  Scotland  in  his  teens,  and  never 


COQUETTE'S  RELIGION.  9 

returned.  Ho  had  been  such  another  as  the  Whaup  in  his 
youth,  only  that  his  outrages  upon  the  decorum  of  bis 
native  village  had  been  of  a  somewhat  more  serious  kind. 
His  family  were  very  glad  when  he  went  abroad;  and 
when  they  did  subsequently  hear  of  him  they  heard  no  good. 
Indeed,  a  very  moderate  amount  of  wildishness  became 
something  terrible  when  rumoured  through  the  quiet  of 
Airlie ;  and  the  younger  Cassilis  was  looked  on  as  the 
prodigal  son,  whom  no  one  was  anxious  to  see  again.  At 
length  the  news  came  that  he  had  married  some  foreign 
woman — and  this  put  a  climax  to  his  wickedness.  It  is  true 
that  the  captain  of  a  Greenock  ship,  having  been  at  St. 
Nazaire,  had  there  met  Mr.  Cassilis,  who  had  taken  his 
countryman  home  to  his  house,  some  few  miles  further  along 
the  banks  of  the  Loire.  The  captain  carried  to  Greenock, 
and  to  Airlie,  the  news  that  the  Minister's  brother  was  the 
most  fortunate  of  men.  The  French  lady  he  had  married 
was  of  the  most  gracious  temperament,  and  had  the  sweetest 
looks.  She  had  brought  her  husband  a  fine  estate  on  the 
Loire,  where  he  lived  like  a  foreign  prince,  not  like  the 
brother  of  a  parish  minister.  They  had  a  daughter — an  elf, 
a  fairy,  with  dark  eyes  and  witching  ways — who  lisped 
French  with  the  greatest  ease  in  the  world.  Old  Gavin 
Cassilis,  the  Minister,  heard,  and  was  secretly  rejoiced.  He 
corresponded,  in  his  grave  and  formal  fashion,  with  his 
brother  ;  but  he  would  not  undertake  a  voyage  to  a  country 
that  had  abandoned  itself  to  infidelity.  The  Minister 
knew  no  France  but  the  France  of  the  Revolution  time  ; 
and  so  powerfully  had  he  been  impressed  in  his  youth  by 
t  lie  stories  of  the  worship  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason,  that, 
while  the  ancient  languages  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his 
own,  while  he  knew  enough  of  Italian  to  read  the  Inferno, 
and  had  mastered  even  the  technicalities  of  the  German 
theologians,  nothing  would  ever  induce  him  to  study 
French.  It  was  a  language  abhorred — it  had  lent  itself  to 
th"  most  monstrous  apostacy  of  recent  times. 

The  mother  and  father  of  Coquette  died  within  a  few 
hours  of  each  other,  cut  off  by  a  fever  which  was  raging 
over  the  south  of  France  ;  and  the  girl,  according  to  their 
wish,  was  sent  to  a  school  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  she 
remained  until  she  was  eighteen.     She  was  then  transferred 


io  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

to  the  care  of  her  only  living  relative — Mr.  Gavin  Cassilis, 
the  parish  Minister  of  Airlie.  She  had  never  seen  anything 
of  Scotland  or  of  her  Scotch  relations.  The  life  that 
awaited  her  was  quite  unknown  to  her.  She  had  no  dread 
of  the  possible  consequences  of  removing  her  thoroughly 
southern  nature  into  the  chiller  social  atmosphere  of  the 
north.  So  far,  indeed,  her  journey  had  been  a  pleasant 
one  ;  and  she  saw  nothing  to  make  her  apprehensive  of  the 
future.  She  had  been  met  at  the  railway  station  by  the 
Minister's  man,  Andrew  ;  but  she  had  no  opportunity  of 
noticing  his  more  than  gloomy  temperament,  or  the  scant 
civility  he  was  inclined  to  bestow  on  a  foreign  jade  who 
was  dressed  so  that  all  the  men  turned  and  looked  at  her  as 
though  she  had  been  a  snare  of  Satan.  For  they  had 
scarcely  left  the  station,  and  were  making  their  way  upward 
to  the  higher  country,  when  they  overtook  Lord  Earlshope, 
who  was  riding  leisurely  along.  Andrew — much  as  he 
contemned  the  young  nobleman,  who  had  not  the  best  of 
reputations  in  the  district — touched  his  cap,  as  in  duty 
bound.  His  lordship  glanced  with  a  look  of  surprise  and 
involuntary  admiration  at  the  young  lady  who  sat  on  the 
dog-cart ;  and  then  rode  forward,  and  said — 

"  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing  myself  to  Mr; 
Oassilis'  niece  ?     I  hope  I  am  not  mistaken." 

With  a  frankness  which  appalled  Andrew — who  considered 
this  boldness  on  the  part  of  an  unmarried  woman  to  be 
indicative  of  the  licentiousness  of  French  manners — the 
young  lady  replied  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  Lord  Earlshope 
had  succeeded  in  drawing  her  into  a  pleasant  conversation 
in  her  own  tongue.  Nay,  when  they  had  reached  Earlshope, 
he  insisted  that  Miss  Cassilis  should  enter  the  gate  and 
drive  through  the  park,  which  ran  parallel  with  the  road. 
He  himself  was  forced  to  leave  his  horse  with  the  lodge- 
keeper,  the  animal  having  mysteriously  become  lame  on 
ascending  the  hill ;  but,  with  a  careless  apology  and  a 
laugh,  the  fair-haired  young  gentleman  jumped  on  to  the 
dog-cart  behind,  and  begged  Andrew  for  a  "  lift "  as  far  as 
the  Manse. 

Andrew  thought  it  was  none  of  his  business.  Had  his 
companion  been  an  ordinarily  sober  and  discreet  young 
woman,  he  would  nob  have  allowed  her  to  talk  so  familiarly 


COQ  UETTES  RELIGION.  1 1 

with  this  graceless  young  lord;  but,  said  the  Minister's 
man  bo  himself,  they  were  well  met. 

"They  jabbered  away  in  their  foreign  lingo,"  said 
Andrew,  that  evening,  to  his  wife  Leezibeth,  the  house- 
keeper, "and  I'm  thinking  it  was  siccah  a  language  was 
talked  in  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  And  he  wTas  a'  smiles,  and  she 
was  a'  smiles;  and  they  seemed  to  think  nae  shame  o'  them- 
selves, goiu'  through  a  decent  country-side.  It's  a  dispensation, 
Leezibeth  ;  that's  what  it  is — a  dispensation — this  hussy 
coming  amang  us  wi'  her  French  silks  and  her  satins,  and 
her  deevlish  license  o'  talkin'  like  a  play-actor." 

"Andrew,  my  man,"  said  Leezibeth,  with  a  touch  of 
spite  (for  she  had  become  rather  a  partisan  of  the  stranger), 
"  she'll  no  be  the  only  lang  tongue  we  hae  in  the  parish. 
And  what  ails  ye  at  her  talking,  if  ye  dinna  understand 
it  ?  As  for  her  silks  and  her  satins,  the  Queen  on  the 
throne  couldna  set  them  off  better." 

"  Didna  I  tell  ye  !  "  said  Andrew,  eagerly, "  the  carnal  eye 
is  attracted  already.  She  has  cast  her  wiles  owre  ye,  Leezi- 
beth.    It's  a  temptation." 

"  Will  the  body  be  quiet  ! "  said  Leezibeth,  with  rising 
anger.  "He's  fair  out  o'  his  wits  to  think  that  a  woman 
come  to  my  time  o'  life  should  be  thinking  o'  silks  and 
satins  for  mysel'.  'Deed,  Andrew,  there's  no  much  fear  o' 
my  spending  siller  on  finery,  when  ye  never  see  a  bawbee 
without  running  for  an  auld  stocking  to  hide  it  in  !  " 

Oddly  enough,  Andrew  was  at  first  the  only  one  of  them 
who  apprehended  any  evil  from  the  arrival  of  the  young  girl 
who  had  come  to  pass  her  life  among  people  very  dissimilar 
from  herself.  The  simplicity  and  frankness  of  her  manner 
towards  Lord  Earlshope  he  exaggerated  into  nothing  short 
of  license;  and  his  "dour"  imagination  had  already 
perceived  in  her  some  strange  resemblance  to  the  Scarlet 
Woman,  the  Mother  of  Abominations,  who  sat  on  the  seven 
hills  and  mocked  at  the  saints.  Andrew  was  a  morbid  and 
morose  man,  of  Seceder  descent ;  and  he  had  inherited  a 
tinge  of  the  old  Cameronian  feeling,  not  often  met  with 
now-a-days.  He  felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to  be  a  sort  of 
living  protest  in  the  Manse  against  the  temporising  and 
feeble  condition  of  theological  opinion  he  found  there.  Ee 
looked  upon  Mr.  Cassilia  as  little  else  than  a  "Moderate  ;" 


12  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and  even  made  bold,  upon  rare  occasions,  to  confront  the 
Minister  himself. 

"  Andrew,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis  one  day,  "  you  are  a  rebellious 
servant,  and  one  that  would  intemperately  disturb  the  peace 
o'  the  Church." 

"In  nowise,  Minister,  in  nowise,"  retorted  Andrew, 
with  firmness.  "  But  in  maitters  spiritual  I  will  yield 
obedience  to  no  man.  There  is  but  one  King  in  Sion,  sir, 
for  a'  that  a  dominant  and  Erastian  Estayblishment  may 
say." 

"  Toots,  toots,"  said  the  Minister,  testily.  "  Let  the 
Establishment  alone,  Andrew.  It  does  more  good  than 
harm,  surely."  «*» 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  replied  Andrew  (with  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  that  the  Establishment  had  supplied  him  with  the 
carnal  advantages  of  a  good  situation),  "  but  I  am  not  wan 
that  would  rub  out  the  ancient  landmarks  o'  the  faith  which 
our  fathers  suffered  for,  and  starved  for,  and  bled  for.  The 
auld  religion  is  dying  out  owre  fast  as  it  is,  but  there  is  still 
a  remnant  o'  Jacob  among  the  Gentiles,  and  they  are  not  a' 
like  Mcodemus,  that  was  ashamed  o'  the  truth  that  was  in 
him,  and  bided  until  the  nicht." 

It  was  well,  therefore,  that  this  fearless  denouncer  did  not 
hear  the  following  conversation  which  took  place  between 
the  Minister  and  his  niece.  The  latter  had  been  conducted 
by  Leezibeth  to  see  the  rooms  prepared  for  her.  With  these 
she  was  highly  delighted.  A  large  chamber,  which  had 
served  as  a  dormitory  for  the  boys,  was  now  transformed 
into  a  sitting-room  for  her,  and  the  boys'  beds  had  been 
carried  into  a  neighbouring  hayloft,  which  had  been  cleared 
oat  for  the  purpose.  In  this  sitting-room  she  found  her 
piano,  which  had  been  sent  on  some  days  before,  and  a 
number  of  other  treasures  from  her  southern  home.  There 
were  two  small  square  windows  in  the  room ;  and  they  looked 
down  upon  the  garden,  with  its  moss-grown  wall,  and, 
beyond  that,  over  a  corner  of  Airlie  moor,  and,  beyond  that 
again,  towards  the  sloping  and  wooded  country  which 
stretched  away  to  the  western  coast.  A  faint  grey  breadth 
of  sea  was  visible  there  ;  and  the  island  of  Arran,  with  its 
peaked  mountains  grown  a  pale,  transparent  blue,  lay  along 
the  horizon. 


COQUETTE'S  RELIGION.  13 

"Ye  might  hae  left  that  music-box  in  France,"  said 
Leezibeth.     "  It's  better  fitted  for  there  than  here." 

"  I  could  not  live  without  it,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

"  Then  I'd  advise  ye  no  to  open  it  the-day,  which  is  a  day 
0?  preparation  for  the  solemn  services  o'  the  Sabbath.  The 
denner  is  on  the  table,  miss." 

The  young  lady  went  down-stairs  and  took  her  place  at 
the  table,  all  the  boys  staring  at  her  with  open  mouth  and 
eyes.  It  was  during  her  talk  with  the  Minister  that  she 
casually  made  a  remark  about  "  the  last  time  she  had  gone 
to  mass." 

Consternation  sat  upon  every  face.  Even  the  Minister 
looked  shocked,  and  asked  her  if  she  had  been  brought  up 
a  Roman. 

"  A  Catholic  ?  Yes,"  said  Co  uictte,  Cimply,  and  yet 
looking  strangely  at  the  faces  of  the  boys.  They  had 
i icver  before  had  a  Catholic  come  among  them  unawares. 

"I  am  deeply  grieved  and  pained,"  said  the  Minister, 
gravely.  "  I  knew  not  that  my  brother  had  been  a  pervert 
bom  the  communion  of  our  Church " 

"Papa  was  not  a  Catholic,"  said  Coquette.  "Mamma 
and  I  were.  But  it  matters  nothing.  I  will  go  to  your 
church — it  is  the  same  to  me." 

"  But,"  said  the  Minister,  in  amazement  and  horror,  "  it 
is  worse  that  you  should  be  so  indifferent  than  that  you 
should  be  a  Catholic.  Have  you  never  been  instructed  as 
to  the  all- importance  of  your  religious  faith  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  much — but  I  will  learn,  if  you  pleat 
she  said.     "  T  have  only  tried  to  be  kind  to  the  people 
around  me — that  is  all.     I  will  learn  if  you  will  teach  me. 
1  will  be  what  you  like." 

"  Her  ignorance  is  lamentable,"  muttered  the  Minister  to 
himself  ;  and  the  boys  looked  at  her  askance  and  with  fear. 
Perhaps  she  was  a  secret  friend  and  ally  of  the  Pope  himself. 

But  the  AVhaup,  who  had  been  inclined  to  show  an 
independent  contempt  for  his  new  cousin,  no  sooner  saw 
her  get  into  trouble,  than  he  startled  everybody  by  exclaiming, 
warmly — 

"  She  has  got  the  best  part  of  all  religions,  if  she  does 
her  best  to  the  people  round  about  her." 


H  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Thomas,"  said  the  Minister,  severely,  "  you  are  not 
competent  to  judge  of  these  things." 

But  Coquette  looked  at  the  lad,  and  saw  that  his  face 
was  burning ;  and  she  thanked  him  with  her  expressive 
eyes.  Another  such  glance  would  have  made  the  Whaup 
forswear  his  belief  in  the  Gunpowder  Plot ;  and  as  it 
was,  he  began  to  cherish  wild  notions  about  Roman 
Catholicism.  That  was  the  first  result  of  Coquette's  arrival 
at  Airlie. 

CHAPTER  III. 

A  PENITENT. 

"When,  on  the  Sunday  morning,  Coquette,  having  risen, 
dressed,  and  come  into  her  sitting-room,  went  forward  to 
one  of  the  small  windows,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  deli gl it. 
She  had  no  idea  that  the  surroundings  of  her  new  home 
were  so  beautiful.  Outside  the  bright  sunlight  of  the 
morning  fell  on  the  Minister's  garden  and  orchard — a 
somewhat  tangled  mass,  it  is  true,  of  flower  beds  and  apple 
trees,  with  patches  of  cabbage,  pease,  and  other  kitchen 
stuff  filling  up  every  corner.  A  white  rose-tree  nearly 
covered  the  wall  of  the  Manse,  and  hung  its  leaves  and 
blooms  round  the  two  windows  ;  and  when  she  opened  one 
of  these  to  let  the  fresh  air  rush  in,  there  was  a  fragrance 
that  filled  the  room  in  a  second. 

But  far  beyond  the  precincts  of  the  Manse  stretched  a 
great  landscape,  so  spacious,  so  varied,  so  graduated  in 
hue  and  tone  that  her  eye  ran  over  it  with  an  ever-increasing 
delight  and  wonder.  First,  the  sea.  Just  over  the 
mountains  of  the  distant  island  of  Arran — a  spectral  blue 
mass  lying  along  the  horizon — there  was  a  confusion  of 
clouds  that  let  the  sunlight  fall  down  on  the  plain  of  water 
in  misty,  slanting  lines.  The  plain  was  dark,  except  where 
those  rays  smote  it  sharp  and  clear,  glimmering  in  sil\ 
while  a  black  steamer,  a  mere  speck,  slowly  crept  across  the 
lines  of  blinding  light.  Down  in  the  south  there  was  a 
small  grey  cloud,  the  size  of  a  man's  hand,  resting  on  the 
water  ;  but  she  did  not  know  that  that  was  the  rock  of 
Ailsa.     Then,  nearer  shore  the  blue  sea  fringed  with  white 


A  PENITENT.  15 

ran  into  two  long  bays,  bordered  by  a  waste  of  ruddy  sand  ; 
and  above  tho  largest  of  these  great  bays  she  saw  a  thin 
lino  of  dark  houses  and  gleaming  slates,  stretching  from  the 
old-world  town  of  Saltcoats  up  to  its  more  modern  suburb 
of  Ardrossan,  where  a  small  fleet  of  coasting  vessels  rocked 
in  the  harbour.     So  near  were  these  houses  to  the  water 
that,  from  where  Co  [uette  stood,  they  seemed  a  black  fringe 
3twork  to  the   land;    and    the   spire   of   Saltcoats 
church,  rising  from  above  the  slates,  was  sharply  defined 
ast  the  wide  and  windy  breidtli  of  waves. 
"Then  inland.     Her  room  looked  south;  and  before  her 
1  the  fair  and  fertile  valleys  and  hills  of  Ayrshire — 
undulating  heights  and  hollows,  intersected  by  dark  green 
lines  of  copse  running  down  to  the  sea.     The  red  fhr 
of  the  Steven-ton  ironworks  flickered  in   the  daylight  ;  a 
mist  of  blue   smoke   hung   over  Irvine   and  Troon;   and, 
had  her  eves  known  where  to  look,  she  might  have  caught 
rev  glimmer  of   the   houses  of   Ayr.      As   the 
white   clouds   sailed   across   the  sky,  azure   shadows  crept 
the  variegated  landscape,  momentarily  changing  its 
many   hues    and    colours;    and    while    some    dark    wool 
id   suddenly   deepen    in   gloom,   lo  !  beside   it,    some 
hitherto  unperceived  corn-field  would  as  suddenly  burst  out 
earn  of  yellow,  burning  like  gold. 
ill  it  was  on  this  quiet  Sunday  morning,  that  she 
could   hear   the  "click"   of   a   grasshopper   on   the  warm 
r]  outside,  and  the  hum  of  a  passing  bee  as  it  buried 
If  in  one  of  the  white  roses,  and  then  flew  on.     Xa  • 
tinued  gazing  away  towards  the  south,  it  a  to 

her  she  could  hear  more.      "Was  not   that  the  plashing 
on  the  sunny  coast  of  France?     Was  not  that 
ihanting  in  the  small  chapel  at  Le  Croisic,  out 
re  at  the  point  of  land  that  runs  into  the  sea  above 
tary  of  the  Loire?     Her  mental  vision  followed  the  line 
running  inward — passing  the  quaint  houses  and  the 
it    building   yards    of    St.    Xazaire — and    then,    as    she 
followed  the  windings  of  the  broad  blue  river,  - 
her    own    home,    high    up   on    the    bank,    overlooking 
islands  on  the  stream  and  the  lower  land  and  green  w< 
md. 
"If  I  had  a  pair  of  wings,"  she  said,  with  a  laugi 


■MOMP 


i6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.      . 

would  fly  ayvay."  She  had  determined  she  would  always 
speak  English  now,  even  to  herself. 

She  went  to  her  piano  and  sat  down  and  began  to  sing 
the  old  and  simple  air  that  she  had  sung  when  she  left  her 
southern  home.  She  sang  of  "  Normandie,  ma  Normandie ; " 
and  the  sensitive  thrill  of  a  rich  and  soft  contralto  voice  lent 
a  singular  pathos  to  the  air,  although  she  had  gone  to  the 
piano  chiefly  from  lightness  of  heart.  Now  it  happened 
that  the  Whaup  was  passing  the  foot  of  the  stair  leading  up 
to  her  room.  At  first  he  could  not  believe  his  ears  that  any 
one  was  actually  singing  a  profane  song  on  the  Sabbath 
morning ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  heard  "  0  Normandie,  ma 
Normandie ! "  than  he  flew  up  the  stairs,  three  steps  at  a 
bound,  to  stop  such  wickedness. 

She  did  not  sing  loudly,  but  he  thought  he  had  never 
heard  such  singing.  He  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of 
the  stair.  He  listened,  and  succumbed  to  the  temptress. 
The  peculiar  penetrating  timbre  of  the  contralto  voice  pierced 
him  and  fixed  him  there,  so  that  he  forgot  all  about  his  well- 
meant  interference.  He  listened  breathlessly,  and  with  a 
certain  amount  of  awe,  as  if  it  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him 
to  hear  the  chanting  of  angels.  He  remembered  no  more 
that  it  was  sinful  ;  and  when  the  girl  ceased,  it  seemed  to 
him  there  was  a  terrible  void  in  the  silence,  which  was 
almost  misery. 

Presently  her  fingers  touched  the  keys  again.  "What  was 
this  now  that  filled  the  air  with  a  melody  which  had  a 
strange  distance  and  unearthliness  about  it  ?  She  had 
begun  to  play  one  of  Mozart's  sonatas,  and  was  playing  ifc 
carelessly  enough  ;  but  the  Whauphad  never  heard  anything 
like  it  before.  It  seemed  to  him  to  open  with  the  sad 
stateliness  of  a  march,  and  he  could  almost  hear  in  it  the 
tread  of  aerial  hosts  ;  then  there  was  a  suggestion  of  triumph 
and  joy,  subsiding  again  into  that  plaintive  and  measured 
cadence.  It  was  full  of  dreams  and  mystery  to  him  ;  he 
knew  no  longer  that  he  was  in  a  Scotch  Manse.  But  when 
the  girl  within  the  room  broke  into  the  rapidity  of  the  first 
variation,  and  was  indeed  provoked  into  giving  some  atten- 
tion to  her  playing,  he  was  recalled  to  himself.  He  had 
been  deluded  by  the  devil.  He  would  no  longer  permit  this 
thing  to  go  on  unchecked.     And  it  is  probable  he  would  at 


A  PENITENT.  17 

once  have  opened  the  door  and  charged  her  to  desist,  but 
from  a  sneaking  hope  that  she  might  play  something  more 
intelligible  to  him  than  these  variations,  which  he  regarded 
as  impudent  and  paganish — the  original  melody  playing 
hide-and-seek  with  you  in  a  demoniac  fashion,  and  laugh- 
ing at  you  from  behind  a  corner,  when  you  thought  you 
had  secured  it.  He  was  lingering  in  this  uncertain  way 
when  Leezibeth  dashed  up  the  stairs.  She  saw  him  stand- 
ing there,  listening,  and  threw  a  glance  of  contempt  upon 
him.  She  banged  the  door  open,  and  advanced  into  the 
room. 

"  Preserve  us  a',  lassie,  do  ye  think  what  ye're  doing  ? 
Do  ye  no  ken  this  is  the  Sabbath,  and  that  you're  in  a 
respectable  house  ?  " 

The  girl  turned  round  with  more  wonder  than  alarm  in 
her  face. 

"  Is  it  not  right  to  play  music  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Sunday  !  Sunday  !  "  exclaimed  Leezibeth,  who  was 
nearly  choking,  partly  from  excitement  and  partly  from 
having  rushed  upstairs  ;  "your  heathenish  gibberish  accords 
weel  wi'  sic  conduct !  There  is  nae  Sunday  for  us.  We  are 
no  worshippers  0'  Bel  and  the  Draugon  ;  and  dinna  ye  tell 
me  that  the  dochter  0'  the  minister's  brither  doesna  ken 
that  it  is  naethiug  less  than  heathenish  to  turn  a  sober  and 
respectable  house  into  a  Babel  0'  a  theatre  on  a  Sabbath 
morning " 

At  this  moment  the  Whaup  made  his  appearance,  with  his 
aflame. 

"  Plenty,  plenty,  Leezibeth  !  "  said  he,  standing  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Ma  certes,"  said  Leezibeth,  turning  on  her  new  enemy. 
'•  and  this  is  a  pretty  pass  !  Is  there  to  be  nae  order  in  the 
house  because  ye  are  a'  won  ower  by  a  smooth  face  and  a 
pair  0'  glintin'  ecu  ?  Is  the  Manse  to  be  tumbled  tapsalteery, 
and  made  a  byword  0'  because  o'  a  foreign  hussy  ?" 

"Leezibeth,"  said  the  Whaup,  M  as  BUTe's  death,  if  ye  say 
another  word  to  my  cousin,  ye'll  rang  fieein-  down  that  stair 
quicker  than  ever  ye  came  up  !     Do  ye  hear  ?" 

Leezibeth  threw  up  her  hands,  and  went  away.  The 
Manse  would  soon  be  no  longer  fit  for  a  respectahle  woman 
to  live  in.     Singing,  and  dancing,  and  play-acting  on  tli  : 

C 


1 8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Sabbath  morning — after  all,  Andrew  was  right.  It  would 
have  been  a  merciful  dispensation  if  the  boat  that  brought 
this  Jezebel  to  the  country  had  foundered  in  sight  of  its 
shores. 

Then  the  Whaup  turned  to  Coquette. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  mean  to  get  into  trouble 
more  nor  I  can  help.  Leezibeth  is  an  authority  in  the 
Manse,  and  ye'll  hae  to  make  friends  wi'  her.  Don't  you 
imagine  you  can  play  music  here  or  do  what  ye  like  on  the 
Sabbath  ;  for  you'll  have  to  be  like  the  rest — gudeness 
gracious  !  what  are  ye  crying  for  ? — " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  turning  her  head  aside.  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  tremendous  flush  of  red  to  his  face 
— for  her  tears  had  made  him  valiant — "  is  that  all  ?  Look 
here,  you  can  depend  on  me.  When  you  get  into  trouble, 
send  for  me.  If  any  man  or  woman  in  Airlie  says  a  word  to 
you,  by  jingo  !  I'll  punch  their  head  !  " 

And  thereupon  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  laughter 
like  sunshine  struggling  through  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Is  it  English — ^ponche  save  hade  ?  " 

"  Not  as  you  pronounce  it,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  But  as  I 
should  show  them,  if  they  interfered  wi'  you,  it's  very  good 
English,  and  Scotch,  and  Irish  all  put  together." 

On  Sunday  morning  Mi*.  Cassilis  had  his  breakfast  by 
himself  in  his  study.  The  family  had  theirs  in  the  ordinary 
breakfast  room,  Leezibeth  presiding.  It  was  during  this 
meal  that  Coquette  began  for  the  first  time  to  realise  the  fact 
that  there  existed  between  her  and  the  people  around  her 
some  terrible  and  inexplicable  difference  which  shut  her  out 
from  them.  Leezibeth  was  cold  and  distant  to  her.  The 
boys,  all  except  the  Whaup,  who  manfully  took  her  part, 
looked  curiously  at  her.  And  with  her  peculiar  sensitiveness 
to  outward  impressions,  she  began  to  ask  herself  if  there 
might  not  be  some  cause  for  this  suspicion  on  their  part. 
Perhaps  she  was,  unknown  to  herself,  more  wicked  than 
others.  Perhaps  her  ignorance — as  in  this  matter  of  music, 
which  she  had  always  regarded  as  harmless — had  blinded 
her  to  the  fact  that  there  was  something  more  demanded  of 
her  than  the  simple,  and  innocent,  and  joyous  life  she 
believed  herself  to  have  led.     These  doubts  and  anxieties 


A  PENITENT.  19 

grew  in  proportion  to  their  vagueness.  "Was  she,  after  all,  a 
dangerous  person  to  have  come  among  these  religious 
people  ?  Andrew  would  have  been  rejoiced  to  know  of  these 
agitating  thoughts  :  she  was  awakening  to  a  sense  of 
Avretchedness  and  sin. 

Scarcely  was  breakfast  over  than  a  message  was  brought 
that  Mr.  Cassilis  desired  to  see  his  niece  privately.  Coquette 
rose  up,  very  pale.  Was  it  now  that  she  was  to  have 
explained  to  her  the  measure  of  her  own  godlessness,  that 
seemed  to  be  a  barrier  between  her  and  the  people  among 
whom  she  was  to  live  ? 

She  went  to  the  door  of  the  study  and  paused  there,  with 
her  heart  beating.  Already  she  felt  like  a  leper  that  stood 
at  the  gate3,  and  was  afraid  to  talk  to  any  passer-by  for  fear 
of  a  cruel  repulse.  She  opened  the  door,  with  downcast  look, 
and  entered.  Her  agitation  prevented  her  from  speaking. 
And  then,  having  raised  her  eyes,  and  seeing  before  her  the 
tall,  grey-haired  Minister  seated  in  his  chair,  she  suddenly 
went  forward  to  him,  and  flung  herself  at  his  feet,  bursting 
into  a  wild  fit  of  weeping,  and  burying  her  face  in  his  knees. 
In  broken  speech,  interrupted  by  passionate  sobbing  and 
tears,  she  implored  him  to  deal  gently  with  her  if  she  had 
done  wrong. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not 
mean  to  do  wrong.  I  will  do  what  you  tell  me — but  I  am 
all  alone  here — and  I  cannot  live  if  you  are  angry  with  me. 
I  will  go  away,  if  you  like — perhaps  it  will  be  better  if  I  go 
away,  and  not  vex  you  any  more." 

"  But  you  have  not  vexed  me,  my  lassie — you  have  done 
no  wrong  that  I  know  of,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
head.     "  What  is  all  this  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

She  looked  up  to  see  whether  the  expression  of  his  face 
corresponded  with  the  kindness  of  his  voice.  She  saw  in 
those  worn,  grey,  lined  features  nothing  but  gentleness  and 
affection  ;  and  the  ordinary  sternness  of  the  deep-set  eyes 
was  replaced  by  a  profound  pity. 

"T  cannot  tell  you  in  English — in  French  I  could,"  she 
said.  "They  speak  to  me  as  if  I  was  different  from  them, 
and  wicked;  and  I  donor  know  in  what.  I  thought  you 
wished  to  reproach  me.  I  could  not  bear  that.  If  I  do 
wrong  without  knowing,  1  will  do  better  if  yon  will  tell  me  ; 

c  2 


20  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

but  I  cannot  live  all  by  myself,  and  think  that  I  am  wicked, 
and  not  know.  If  it  is  wrong  to  play  music,  I  will  not 
play  any  more  music.  I  will  ask  Lissiebess  to  pardon  me 
my  illness  of  this  morning,  which  I  did  not  know  at  all." 

The  Minister  smiled. 

"  So  you  have  been  playing  music  this  morning,  and 
Leezibeth  has  stopped  you  ?  I  hope  she  was  not  to  blame 
in  her  speech,  for  to  her  it  would  seem  very  heinous  to  hear 
profane  music  on  the  Sabbath.  Indeed,  we  all  of  us  in 
Scotland  consider  that  the  Sabbath  should  be  devoted  to 
meditation  and  worship,  not  to  idleness  and  amusement  ; 
and  ye  will  doubtless  come  to  consider  it  no  great  hardship 
to  shut  your  piano  one  day  out  o'  the  seven.  But  I  sent  for 
ye  this  morning  wi'  quite  another  purpose  than  to  scold  ye 
for  having  fallen  through  ignorance  into  a  fault,  of  which, 
indeed,  I  knew  nothing." 

He  now  began  to  unfold  to  her  the  serious  perplexity 
which  had  been  caused  him  by  the  fact  of  her  having  been 
brought  up  a  Eoman  Catholic.  On  the  one  hand,  he  had  a 
sacred  duty  to  perform  to  her  as  being  almost  her  sole 
surviving  relation  ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  was  he  justified 
in  supplanting  with  another  faith  that  faith  in  which  her 
mother  had  desired  her  to  remain  ?  The  Minister  had  been 
seriously  troubled  about  this  matter  ;  and  wished  to  have  it 
settled  before  he  permitted  her  to  go  to  church  with  the 
rest  of  his  family.  He  was  a  scrupulously  conscientious 
man.  They  used  to  say  of  him  in  Airlie  that  if  Satan,  in 
arguing  with  him,  were  to  fall  into  a  trap,  Mr.  Cassilis 
would  scorn  to  take  advantage  of  any  mere  slip  of  the 
tongue — a  piece  of  rectitude  not  invariably  met  with  in 
religious  disputes.  When,  therefore,  the  Minister  saw 
placed  in  his  hands  a  willing  convert,  he  would  not  accept 
of  the  conversion  without  explaining  to  her  all  the  bearings  of 
the  case,  and  pointing  out  to  her  clearly  what  she  was  doing. 

Coquette  solved  the  difficulty  in  a  second. 

"  If  mamma  were  here,"  she  said,  "  she  would  go  at  once 
to  your  chmch.  It  never  mattered  to  us — the  church.  The 
difference — or  is  it  differation  is  the  proper  English  ?-^\yuk 
nothing  to  us  ;  and  papa  did  not  mind.  I  will  go  to  your 
church,  and  you  will  tell  me  all  what  it  is  right.  I  will  soon 
know  all  your  religion,"  she  added,  more  cheerfully,  "  and  I 


A  PENITENT.  21 

will  sing  those  dreadful  slow  tunes  which  papa  used  to  sing 
— to  make  mamma  laugh." 

"  My  brother  might  have  been  better  employed,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  frown  ;  but  Coquette  ran  away,  light- 
hearted,  to  dress  herself  to  go  with  the  others. 

The  "Whanp  was  a  head  taller  when  he  issued  from  the 
Manse,  by  the  side  of  his  new  cousin,  to  go  down  to  the 
little  church.  He  was  her  protector.  He  snubbed  the  other 
boys.  To  one  of  them — Wattie  the  sneak — he  had  ad- 
ministered a  sharp  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head,  when  the 
latter,  on  Coquette  being  summoned  into  the  study,  re- 
marked confidentially,  "  She's  gaun  to  get  her  licks  ;  "  and 
n ow,  when  the  young  lady  had  come  out  in  all  the  snowy 
brightness  of  her  summer  costume,  Wattie  revenged  himself 
by  murmuring  to  his  companions — 

"  Doesna  she  look  like  a  play-actress  ?  " 

So  the  small  procession  passed  along  the  rough  moorland 
road  until  they  drew  near  the  little  grey  church  and  its 
graveyard  of  rude  stones.  Towards  this  point  converged 
the  scattered  twos  and  threes  now  visible  across  the  moor 
and  down  in  the  village — old  men  and  women,  young  men 
and  maidens  all  in  their  best  Sunday  "braws."  The 
dissonant  bell  was  sounding  harshly  ;  and  the  boys,  before 
going  into  the  gloomy  little  building,  threw  a  last  and 
wistful  glance  over  the  broad  moor,  where  the  bronzed  and 
the  yellow  butterflies  were  fluttering  in  the  sunlight,  and  the 
bees  drowsily  humming  in  the  heather. 

They  entered.  Every  one  stared  at  Coquette,  as  they  had 
stared  at  her  outside.  The  boys  could  not  understand  the 
easy  self-composure  with  which  she  followed  the  Whanp 
down  between  the  small  wooden  benches,  and  took  her  place 
in  the  Minister's  pew.  There  was  no  confusion  or  em- 
barrassment in  her  manner  on  meeting  the  eyes  of  a  lot 
of  strangers. 

"  She's  no  feared,"  said  Wattie  to  his  neighbour. 

When  Coquette  had  taken  her  seat,  she  knelt  down  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The  Whaup  touched  her 
arm  quickly. 

"  Ye  must  not  do  that,"  said  he,  looking  round  anxiously 
to  see  whether  any  of  the  neighbours  had  witnessed  tins 
piece  of  Romish  superstition. 


22  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

That  glance  round  dashed  from  his  lips  the  cup  of 
pleasure  he  had  been  drinking.  Quietly  regarding  both 
himself  and  Coquette,  he  met  the  eyes  of  Lord  Earlshope  ; 
and  the  congregation  had  not  seen  anything  of  Coquette's 
kneeling,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  had  turned  from 
her  to  gaze  on  the  no  less  startling  phenomenon  of  Lord 
Earlshope  occupying  his  family  pew,  in  which  he  had  not 
been  seen  for  years. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN   UNEXPECTED  VISITOR. 

Coquette  did  not  observe  the  presence  of  Lord  Earlshope 
for  some  time.  She  was  much  engaged  in  the  service,  which 
was  quite  new  to  her.  First  of  all,  the  Minister  rose  in  his 
pulpit  and  read  out  a  psalm  ;  and  then,  under  him,  the  Pre- 
centor rose,  and  begun,  all  by  himself,  to  lead  off  the  singing, 
in  a  strong  harsh  voice  which  had  but  little  music  in  it. 
The  tune  was  "  Drumclog  ; "  and  as  Coquette  listened,  she 
mentally  grouped  its  fine  and  impressive  melody  with 
chords,  and  thought  of  the  wonderful  strength  and  sweetness 
that  Mendelssohn  could  have  imparted  to  that  bare  skeleton 
of  an  air.  The  people  groaned  rather  than  sung ;  there  was 
not  even  an  attempt  at  part-singing ;  the  men  merely 
followed  the  air  an  octave  lower,  except  when  they  struck 
into  quite  a  different  key,  and  produced  such  dissonances  as 
are  indescribable.  If  the  use  of  the  piano  were  not  entirely 
proscribed,  she  promised  to  herself  that  she  would  show  the 
Whaup  next  morning  the  true  character  of  that  simple  and 
noble  air  which  was  being  so  cruelly  ill-treated. 

There  followed  a  long  extempore  prayer,  and  another 
psalm — sung  to  the  plaintive  "  Coleshill " — and  then  there 
came  the  sermon.  She  tried  hard  to  understand  it,  but  she 
could  not.  It  was  an  earnest  and  powerful  appeal ;  but  it 
was  so  clothed  in  the  imagery  of  the  Jewish  prophets — so 
full  of  the  technical  phrases  of  the  Scotch  preachers — that 
she  could  not  follow  it.  Her  English  had  been  chiefly 
gathered  from  the  free  and  easy  conversation  of  her  father, 
and  even  that  had  been  modified  by  the  foreign  pronunciation 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  23 

of  her  mother  ;  so  that  such  phrases  as  "  the  fulfilment  of 
the  covenant,"  "girding  up  the  loins,"  "awakening  unto 
grace,"  and  so  forth,  conveyed  no  meaning  to  her  what- 
ever. In  spite  of  her  best  endeavours  she  found  herself 
dreaming  of  the  Loire — of  St.  Nazaire,  of  Guerande,  of  the 
salt  plains  that  lie  between  that  town  and  Le  Croisic,  and 
of  the  Breton  peasants  in  their  tragous-bras  and  wide  hats, 
making  their  pilgrimages  to  the  church  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Murier. 

The  sight  of  Lord  Earlshope  had  made  the  Whaup  both 
savage  and  wicked.  He  proposed  to  Wattie  to  play  "  Neevie, 
nee  vie,  nick-nack  " — an  offer  which  "Wattie  looked  upon  as 
the  direct  instigation  of  the  devil,  and  refused  accordingly. 

When,  at  last,  Coquette  caught  the  eyes  of  Lord  Earlshope 
fixed  upon  her,  she  was  surprised  to  see  him  so  intently 
regarding  her.  There  was  something  wistful,  too,  in  his 
look  ;  his  face  bearing  an  expression  of  seriousness  she  did 
not  expect  to  find  in  it.  During  the  brief  period  in  which 
he  talked  to  her  he  had  left  upon  her  the  impression  of  his 
being  merely  a  light-hearted  young  man,  who  had  winning 
ways,  and  a  good  deal  of  self-confidence.  But  the  fact  is, 
she  had  paid  no  very  great  attention  to  him  ;  and  even  now 
was  not  disposed  to  look  upon  his  fixed  gaze  as  anything 
beyond  a  mere  accident.  She  turned  her  eyes  aside  ;  tried 
once  more  to  follow  the  sermon ;  and  again  subsided  into 
dreaming  of  Bourg  de  Batz,  and  the  square  pools  of  the  salt 
plains,  with  the  ancient  walls  of  Guerande  filling  up  the 
horizon  of  her  imagination. 

When  the  service  was  over,  and  they  had  got  outside,  the 
Whaup  bundled  them  off  on  the  road  towards  the  Manse 
with  but  little  ceremony,  taking  care  that  Coquette  should 
be  in  front. 

"  What  has  changed  you  ? "  she  said,  in  some  surprise. 
"  I  did  think  you  were  good  friends  with  me  on  coming  to 
the  church." 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  abruptly ;  and  then  he  added, 
sharply,  "  Did  you  see  Lord  Earlshope  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly  1  have  seen  him." 

"  What  business  had  he  there  ?  " 

"  People  go  not  to  the  church  for  business,"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh. 


24  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  He  has  nob  been  in  that  pew  for  years,"  said  the 
Whaup,  gloomily. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  becoming  a  good  man  ? "  she  said, 
lightly,  making  a  careless  effort  to  catch  a  butterfly  that 
fluttered  before  her  face. 

"He  has  plenty  to  alter  then,"  said  the  Whaup,  with 
frowning  brows. 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  laughed.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  Whaup's  brother. 

"  "Wattle,  will  you  run  with  me  to  the  house  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  No,  I'll  no,"  said  Wattie.  "  Ye  are  a  Eoman,  and  can 
get  absolution  for  a'  the  ill  ye  dae." 

"  I  will,  an'  ye  like,"  said  the  youngest  of  the  brothers, 
Dougal,  timidly. 

"  Come  along,  then  !  " 

She  took  his  hand,  and,  before  Leezibeth  or  Andrew 
could  interfere,  they  were  fleeing  along  the  rough  road 
towards  the  Manse,  far  in  front  of  the  others.  Dougal, 
young  as  he  was,  was  a  swift  runner  ;  but  the  foreign 
lassie  beat  him,  and  was  evidently  helping  him.  All  at 
once  Dougal  was  seen  to  stumble  and  roll  forward.  Coquette 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  save  him,  but  in  vain ;  and 
while  he  fell  prone  upon  the  ground,  she  was  brought  nearly 
on  her  knees.  The  little  fellow  got  up,  looking  sadly  at  one 
of  his  hands,  which  was  sorely  scratched  with  the  gravel. 
He  regarded  her,  too,  dumbly ;  clenching  his  lips  to  keep 
himself  from  crying,  although  the  tears  would  gather  in  his 
eyes.  In  an  instant  she  had  overwhelmed  him  with  pitying 
caresses,  and  soft  French  phrases  of  endearment,  while  she 
carefully  smoothed  his  torn  hand  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  You  will  come  with  me  to  my  room,  and  I  will  heal  it 
for  you." 

She  carried  him  off  before  the  others  had  arrived  ;  and 
washed  his  hand  ;  and  put  cold  cream  on  it ;  and  gave  him 
a  whole  box  of  French  chocolate — a  dainty  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  but  which  he  speedily  appreciated.  Then 
she  said, 

"  Come  along,  now,  and  I  will  sing  you  something — Alas  ! 
no,  I  must  not  open  my  piano  any  more." 

It  was  the  first  time  Dougal  had  ever  heard  anybody  say 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  25 

"  alas  !  " — a  word  which  Coquette  had  picked  up  from  her 
English  books.  He  began  to  distrust  all  this  kindness  and 
all  these  fascinating  ways.  What  Coquette  knew  of  English 
was  more  English  than  Scotch  in  pronunciation.  Now, 
everybody  in  Airlie  was  aware  of  the  curious  fact  that  all 
actors,  and  public  singers,  and  such  people,  generally,  as 
live  by  their  wits,  were  English  ;  and  an  English  accent  was 
therefore  in  itself  suspicious.  If  this  young  lady  in  the 
white  muslin  dress,  with  the  yellow  ribbons  in  her  black 
hair,  was  not  actually  French  she  was  English,  which  was 
only  a  shade  less  deplorable.  Dougal  accepted  the  brown 
and  sweet  little  balls  of  chocolate  with  some  compunction, 
and  hoped  he  was  doing  no  mortal  sin  in  eating  them. 

After  the  "interval,"  as  it  was  technically  called,  they  had 
to  go  to  church  again,  and  here  Coquette's  patience  nearly 
gave  way.  Nor  was  the  situation  rendered  less  grievous  by 
the  Whaup  informing  her  severely  that  in  Airlie  there  was 
no  such  thing  as  idle  walking  about  on  the  Sabbath — that 
the  whole  of  the  afternoon  she  would  not  even  be  permitted 
to  go  into  the  garden,  but  would  have  to  sit  indoors  and 
read  a  "good  book."  The  Whaup  was  not  ill-pleased  to 
have  to  convey  this  information  :  he  fancied  Lord  Earls- 
hope  might  be  prowling  about. 

There  was  a  "tea  dinner"  at  four  o'clock,  consisting 
exclusively  of  cold  meats,  with  tea  added.  Thereafter,  the 
whole  family  sat  down  in  solemn  silence  to  their  books — the 
list  being  the  Bible,  the  Shorter  and  Longer  Catechisms, 
Hutcheson's  Exposition,  Dr.  Spurstow  on  the  Promise,  the 
Christian's  Charter,  Bishop  Downham  on  the  Covenant  of 
( I  race  (these  last  "  printed  for  Ralph  Smith,  at  the  Bible  in 
( 'ornhiU  " ),  and  Josephus.  By  tins  copy  of  Josephus  there 
hangs  a  tale. 

Dougal,  remembering  that  business  of  the  chocolate,  came 
over  to  Coquette,  and  whispered — 

"If  ye  are  freends  wi'  the  Whaup,  he'll  show  ye  the 
third  vollum  0'  Josephus." 

Indeed,  the  boys  manifested  the  most  lively  curiosity 
when  the  Whaup  appeared  bearing  the  third  volume  of 
Josephus  in  his  hand.  They  seemed  to  forget  the  sunlight 
outside,  and  the  fresh  air  of  the  moor,  in  watching  this 
treasure.     The  Whaup  sat  down  at  the  table  (the  Minister 


26  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

was  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  in  his  arm-chair)  and 
the  third  volume  of  Josephus  was  opened. 

Coquette  perceived  that  some  mystery  was  abroad.  The 
boys  drew  more  and  more  near  to  the  Whaup ;  and  were 
apparently  more  anxious  to  see  the  third  volume  of  Josephus 
than  anything  else.  She  observed  also  that  the  Whaup, 
keeping  the  board  of  the  volume  up,  never  seemed  to  turn 
over  any  leaves. 

She,  too,  overcome  by  feminine  curiosity,  drew  near.  The 
Whaup  looked  at  her — suspiciously  at  first,  then  he  seemed 
to  relent. 

"  Have  ye  read  Josephus  ?  "  he  said  aloud  to  her. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette. 

"  It  is  a  most  valuable  work,"  said  the  Minister  from  the 
upper  end  of  the  room  (the  Whaup  started),  "  as  giving 
corroboration  to  the  sacred  writings  from  one  who  was  not 
himself  an  advocate  of  the  truth." 

Coquette  moved  her  chair  in  to  the  table.  The  Whaup 
carefully  placed  the  volume  before  her.  She  looked  at  it, 
and  beheld — two  white  mice  ! 

The  mystery  was  solved.  The  Whaup  had  daringly  cut 
out  the  body  of  the  volume,  leaving  the  boards  and  a  margin 
of  the  leaves  all  round.  In  the  hole  thus  formed  reposed 
two  white  mice,  in  the  feeding  and  petting  of  which  he 
spent  the  whole  Sunday  afternoon,  when  he  was  supposed  to 
be  reading  diligently.  No  wonder  the  boys  were  anxious  to 
see  the  third  volume  of  Josephus  ;  and  when  any  one  of 
them  had  done  a  particular  favour  to  the  Whaup,  he  was 
allowed  to  have  half  an  hour  of  the  valuable  book.  There 
were  also  two  or  three  leaves  left  in  front ;  so  that,  when 
any  dangerous  person  passed,  these  leaves  could  be  shut 
down  over  the  cage  of  the  mice. 

They  were  thus  engaged  when  Leezibeth  suddenly  opened 
the  door,  and  said — 

"  Lord  Earlshope  would  speak  wi'  ye,  sir." 

Astonishment  was  depicted  on  every  countenance.  From 
time  immemorial  no  visitor  had  dared  to  invade  the  sanctity 
of  Airlie  Manse  on  a  Sabbath  afternoon. 

"  Show  him  into  my  study,  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Minister. 

"By  no  means,"  said  his  lordship,  entering,  "I  would 
not  disturb  you,   Mr.   Cassilis,   on  any  account.     I  have 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  27 

merely  called  in  to  say  a  passing  word  to  you,  although  I 
know  it  is  not  good  manners  in  Airlie  to  pay  visits  on 
Sunday." 

"  Your  lordship  is  doubtless  aware,"  returned  Mr. 
Cassilis,  gravely,  "that  it  is  not  any  consideration  of 
manners  that  leads  us  to  keep  the  Sabbath  inviolate 
from  customs  which  on  other  days  are  lawful  and  praise- 
worthy." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  young  gentleman,  good- 
naturedly,  and  taking  so  little  notice  of  the  hint  as  to 
appropriate  a  chair ;  "  but  you  must  blame  my  English 
education  if  I  fall  short.  Indeed,  it  struck  me  this  morning 
that  I  have  of  late  been  rather  remiss  in  attending  to  my 
duties ;  and  I  made  a  sort  of  resolve  to  do  better.  You 
would  see  I  was  at  church  to-day." 

"  You  could  not  have  been  in  a  more  fitting  place,"  said 
the  Minister. 

Mr.  Cassilis,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  talking  to  the 
patron  of  the  living — Lord  Earlshope's  father  had  presented 
him  to  the  parish  of  Airlie — was  not  disposed  to  be  too 
gracious  to  this  young  man,  whose  manner  of  conduct, 
although  in  no  way  openly  sinful,  had  been  a  scandal  to  the 
neighbourhood. 

"  He'll  have  a  heavy  reckonin'  to  settle  i'  the  next  worl'," 
Andrew  used  to  say,  "  be  he  lord  or  no  lord.  What  think 
ye,  sirs,  o'  a  young  man  that  reads  licht  books  and  smokes 
cigaurs  frae  the  rising  o'  the  sun  even  till  the  ganging  doon 
o'  the  same  ;  and  roams  about  on  the  Lord's  day  breaking 
in  a  wheen  pointers  ?  " 

The  boys  looked  on  this  visit  of  Lord  Earlshope  as  a 
blessed  relief  from  the  monotony  of  the  Sunday  afternoon  ; 
and  while  they  kept  their  eyes  steadily  directed  on  their 
books,  listened  eagerly  to  what  he  had  to  say.  This  amuse- 
ment did  not  last  long.  His  lordship — scarcely  taking 
any  notice  of  Coquette  in  his  talk,  though  he  sometimes 
looked  at  her  by  chance — spoke  chiefly  of  some  repairs  in 
the  church  winch  he  was  willing  to  aid  with  a  subscription  ; 
and,  having  thus  pleased  the  Minister,  mentioned  that 
Earlshope  itself  had  been  undergoing  repairs  and  re- 
decoration. 

"And  I  have  no  near  neighbours  but  yourselves,  Mr. 


28  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Oassilis,  to  see  our  new  grandeur.  Will  you  not  pay 
Earlshope  a  visit  ?  What  do  you  say  to  coming  over,  the 
whole  of  you,  to-morrow,  and  seeing  what  I  have  done  ?  I 
dare  say  Mrs.  Graham  will  be  able  to  get  some  lunch  for 
you  ;  and  I  should  like  your  niece — whom  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  on  her  way  here — to  give  me  her  opinion  about 
an  organ  that  has  been  sent  me  from  abroad.  What 
do  you  say  ?  I  am  sure  the  boys  will  enjoy  a  holiday 
in  the  grounds,  and  be  able  to  find  amusement  for  them- 
selves." 

If  the  Whaup  dared  to  have  spoken,  he  would  have 
refused  in  indignant  terms.  The  other  boys  were  delighted 
with  the  prospect — although  they  were  still  supposed  to  be 
reading.  Coquette  merely  looked  at  Mr.  Cassilis,  apparently 
without  much  interest,  awaiting  his  answer. 

Mr.  Cassilis  replied,  in  grave  and  dignified  terms  of 
courtesy,  that  he  would  be  proud  to  avail  himself  of  his 
lordship's  invitation ;  and  added  that  he  hoped  this  re- 
establishment  of  the  relations  which  had  existed  between 
Earlshope  and  the  Manse  in  the  time  of  his  lordship's  father 
meant  that  he,  the  present  Lord  Earlshope,  intended  to 
come  oftener  to  church  than  had  been  his  wont  of  late. 
The  hint  was  conveyed  in  veiy  plain  language.  The  young 
nobleman,  however,  took  it  in  good  part,  and  speedily  bade 
them  good  evening.  He  bowed  to  Coquette  as  he  passed 
her  ;  and  she  acknowledged  this  little  manifestation  of 
respect,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

coquette's  music. 

What  was  this  great  rushing  and  whistling  noise  that 
filled  the  girl's  ears  as  the  light  of  the  morning — entering 
by  a  small  window  which  had  no  sort  of  blind  or  shutter — - 
fell  on  her  face  and  opened  her  confused  eyes  to  its  glare  ? 
She  had  been  dreaming  of  Earlshope.  Dreams  are  but 
rechauffes  of  past  experiences ;  and  this  ghostly  Earlshope 
that  she  had  visited  in  her  sleep  was  a  French  Earlshope.  The 
broad  blue  Loire  ran  down  a  valley  in  front  of  it.  There 
were  hills  for  a  background  which  had  long  terraces  of  vines 


COQUETTE'S  MUSIC.  29 

on  them.  From  the  windows  she  could  see  the  steamers — 
mere  dots  with  a  long  serpent  trail  of  smoke  behind  them — 
creep  into  the  haven  of  St.  Nazaire  ;  and  far  over  the  sea 
lay  the  calm  summer  stillness  of  a  southern  sky. 

She  awoke  to  find  herself  in  Scotland.  The  Manse  shook 
in  the  wind.  There  was  a  roaring  of  rain  on  the  slates  and 
on  the  window  panes  ;  and  a  hissing  outside  told  of  the 
deluge  that  was  pouring  a  red  stream  down  the  moorland 
road.  Fierce  gusts  from  the  south-west  flew  about  the  house, 
and  howled  in  the  chimney  ;  great  grey  masses  of  cloud,  riven 
by  the  hurricane,  came  up  from  the  sea  and  swept  across  the 
moor.  The  room  was  cold  and  damp.  When  she  had 
partly  dressed,  she  went  to  the  window.  Along  the  horizon 
there  was  a  thin  black  line,  dull  as  lead,  which  was  all  that 
was  visible  of  the  sea.  The  mountains  of  Arran  had  entirely 
vanished,  and  in  their  place  was  a  wall  of  grey  vapour. 
Flying  before  the  blast  came  those  huge  volumes  of  smoke- 
like cloud  ;  and  every  now  and  again  their  lower  edges 
would  be  torn  down  by  the  wind  and  hurled  upon  the  moor 
in  heavy,  slanting  torrents  of  rain  ;  wThile  there  was  a  sound 
of  rushing  water  everywhere  ;  and  the  trees  and  shrubs  of 
the  garden  bent  and  shivered  in  the  gleaming  wet. 

"  No  Earlshope  for  ye  to-day,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  ill— 
disguised  glee,  when  she  went  down-stairs  to  breakfast. 

"  I  am  not  sorry.  What  a  dreadful  chill  country  !  "  said 
Coquette,  who  was  trembling  with  cold. 

"  Would  you  like  a  fire  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  eagerly. 

11 A  fire,  indeed  !  "  cried  Leezibeth,  as  she  entered  with 
the  tray.  "A  fire  in  the  middle  o'  summer  !  We  have  na 
been  brought  up  to  sic  luxuries  in  this  pairt  o'  the 
country." 

"  I  am  not  very  cold,"  said  Coquette,  sitting  down  in  a 
OOTlier,  and  trying  to  keep  herself  from  shivering. 

The  Whaup  walked  out  of  the  room.  He  was  too  angry 
i o  speak.  He  looked  once  at  Leezibeth  on  going  out,  and 
there  was  a  blaze  of  wrath  in  his  eyes. 

The  Minister  came  in  to  breakfast,  and  they  all  sat  down — 
all  but  the  AVhatip. 

M  Where  is  Thomas  ?  "  said  Mr.  Oassilis. 

The  reply  was  a  shrill  sereani  from   Leezibeth,  who  v 
apparently  at    the  door.     At  the  same  moment  a  wild 


30  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

crackling  and  sputtering  of  fire  was  heard  overhead  ;  and  as 
everybody  rushed  to  the  passage,  it  was  found  that  dense 
volumes  of  smoke  were  rolling  down,  blown  by  the  currents 
above.  Leezibeth  had  flown  up-stairs  on  first  perceiving 
this  smell  of  burning.  There,  in  Coquette's  parlour,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  Whaup  working  like  a  demon  within  the 
pungent  clouds  that  filled  the  room,  blown  outwards  by  the 
fierce  wind  coming  down  the  chimney.  With  another  cry 
of  alarm  Leezibeth  darted  into  the  nearest  bedroom,  and 
brought  out  a  ewer  of  water,  which  she  discharged  at  the 
blazing  mass  of  newspapers  and  lumps  of  wood  that  the 
Whaup  had  crammed  into  the  small  grate. 

"  Would  ye  set  fire  to  the  house  ?  Would  ye  set  fire  to  the 
house  ?  "  she  cried — and,  indeed,  it  looked  as  if  the  house 
were  on  fire. 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  shouted  the  demon  in  the  smoke,  "  rather 
than  kill  anybody  wi'  cold  !  " 

"  Oh,  it's  that  lassie — it's  that  lassie,"  cried  Leezibeth, 
"  that'll  be  the  ruin  o'  us  a'  !  " 

When  assistance  came,  and  the  fire  was  finally  subdued, 
both  the  Whaup  and  Leezibeth  were  spectacles  to  have 
awakened  the  ridicule  of  gods  and  men.  The  effect  of  the 
deluge  of  water  had  been  to  send  up  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
ashes  with  the  smoke ;  and  their  respective  faces  were 
tattooed  so  that  even  Mr.  Cassilis — for  the  first  time  these 
many  years — burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Even  Wattie 
laughed  ;  seeing  which,  the  Whaup  charged  at  him,  caught 
him  by  the  waist,  and  carried  him  bodily  down-stairs  and 
out  through  the  rain  to  the  yard,  where  he  made  him  work 
the  iron  handle  of  the  pump.  When  the  Whaup  made  his 
appearance  at  the  breakfast  table  he  was  clean  ;  but  both 
himself  and  his  brother  were  rather  damp. 

Mr.  Cassilis  severely  reprimanded  his  eldest  son  ;  but  he 
ordered  Leezibeth  to  light  a  fire  in  Miss  Cassilis'  room 
nevertheless.  The  wind  had  somewhat  abated  now,  and  the 
clouds  had  gathered  for  a  steady  downpour.  Leezibeth  went 
to  her  appointed  task  with  bitterness  of  heart,  but  she 
comforted  herself  with  texts.  As  she  stuffed  the  unconsumed 
remnants  of  the  Whaup's  bonfire  into  the  grate,  she  uttered 
a  denunciation  of  the  luxury  and  idleness  which  were 
appearing  for  the  first  time  in  a  godly  house. 


COQUETTE'S  MUSIC.  31 

"  But  we,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  who  are  the  poor  o1 
this  world,  rich  in  faith,  and  heirs  o'  the  kingdom,  maun 
bide  and  suffer.  We  maun  e'en  be  the  servants  0'  such  as 
this  woman  that  has  come  amongst  us — such  as  lie  upon 
beds  of  ivory,  and  stretch  themselves  upon  their  couches, 
and  eat  the  lambs  out  of  the  flock,  and  the  calves  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  stall ;  that  chant  to  the  sound  of  the  viol,  and 
invent  to  themselves  instruments  of  music,  like  David ; 
that  drink  wine  in  bowls,  and  anoint  themselves  wi'  the 
chief  ointments  :  but  they  are  not  grieved  for  the  affliction 
of  Joseph." 

Yet  even  these  consolations  did  not  seem  quite  to  allay 
the  irritation  of  her  mind  ;  for  a  big  torn  cat  that  belonged 
to  the  house  having  approached  her  elbow  too  confidently, 
suddenly  received  a  "  skelp  "  that  sent  him  flying  across  the 
room  and  down  the  stairs  as  if  the  spirits  of  ten  thousand 
legions  of  dogs  were  pursuing  him. 

Airlie  Manse  was  destined  that  day  to  be  given  up  to  what 
Leezibeth  would  have  called  the  noise  of  viols  and  godless 
rejoicings.  All  thought  of  getting  to  Earlshope  was  aban- 
doned ;  and  shortly  after  breakfast  Coquette  invited  Mr. 
Cassilis  and  the  boys  to  her  sitting-room,  promising  to  play 
something  for  them.  Custom  made  the  Minister  hesitate  for 
a  moment.  Was  not  dance  music  very  near  dancing,  which 
he  regarded  as  a  profane  and'dangerous  amusement  ? 

"  I  wish  to  play  for  you — what  you  call  it  ? — the  tune  of 
the  church  yesterday,  as  it  should  be  sung.  Will  you  hear 
it  from  me  ? " 

No  objection  of  course  could  be  taken  to  sacred  music. 
The  Minister  led  the  way  to  the  room ;  and  the  boys  sat 
down  silently,  looking  round  with  curiosity  and  awe  upon 
the  strange  bits  of  foreign  adornment  and  luxury  which 
Coquette  had  already  placed  about  her  chamber.  The  fire 
was  burning  brightly,  the  rain  battering  on  the  panes  out- 
side.    Coquette  sat  down  to  the  piano. 

The  Minister  did  not  know  at  first  that  he  was  listening 
to  the  old  and  familiar  air  of  "  Drumclog."  It  seemed  to 
him  the  cry  of  a  great  supplication — sad,  yearning,  and 
distant,  as  if  it  came  from  a  far  hill-side  half  hidden  in 
mist.  It  sounded  like  the  softened  and  various  voices  of  a 
great  multitude  made  harmonious  and  pathetic  by  distance. 


32  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

But  when  she  smote  firmer  chords,  and,  with  a  resonant  and 
powerful  bass,  let  the  clear  treble  ring  out  triumphantly,  he 
recognised  "  Drumclog."  It  was  a  song  of  victory  now — the 
war  cry  of  a  host  moved  by  intense  religious  enthusiasm — 
there  was  a  joyous  thanksgiving  in  it,  and  the  clear  voices 
of  women  and  children.  It  seemed  to  him  to  represent  a 
tumult  of  rejoicing — set  in  measured  and  modulated  music 
— that  rose  like  one  sweet,  strong  voice.  Then  again  the 
chords  were  softened,  and  the  air  changed  to  a  wail.  He 
could  almost  see  the  far  moor,  and  the  dead  lying  on  it,  with 
women  wringing  their  hands,  and  yet  thanking  God  for  the 
victory. 

"  It  is  wonderful,  wonderful,"  he  said,  when  Coquette  had 
ceased  playing,  "  the  power  o1  a  dumb  instrument  to  speak 
such  strange  things." 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  this  carnal  invention  of 
music  had  awakened  such  profound  emotion  within  him. 
He  covertly  looked  to  'see  if  the  girl  herself  were  affected 
as  she  had  affected  him  ;  but  Coquette  turned  round  and 
said,  lightly,  "  It  is  a  good  air,  but  your  church  people  they 
do  not  sing  it.  They  groan,  groan,  groan  all  the  same  air — 
no  singing  in  parts,  no  music." 

"  But  you  would  make  any  tune,  however  bad,  sound 
well,"  said  the  Whaup,  warmly.  "  To  every  one  note  you 
give  four  or  five  other  notes,  all  in  harmony.  No  wonder  it 
sounds  well.  It  is  no  test.  Play  us  some  of  your  foreign 
music,  that  we  may  compare  it." 

The  boys  looked  at  the  Whaup  with  astonishment  :  he  was 
becoming  an  orator. 

So  she  played  them  the  Cujus  an  imam,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  its  history  the  Manse  of  Airlic  was  flooded  with  that 
sonorous  music  that  has  entranced  the  hearts  of  multitudes. 
She  played  them  the  mystic  melodies  of  the  Hochzeitmarsch, 
and  they  thought  that  these  also  were  the  expression  of  a 
sublime  devotional  exaltation.  Indeed,  the  boys  regarded 
those  pieces  with  something  of  awe  and  fear.  There  was  an 
unholy  smack  of  organ  playing  and  Romanism  about 
Coquette's  performances.  Had  she  not  transformed  the 
decent  and  sober  tune  of  "  Drumclog "  into  a  mass,  or 
chant,  or  some  such  vague  portion  of  Catholic  ordinances  ? 
Wattie  was  in  possession  of  an  ingenious  little  book  on 


COQUETTE'S  MUSIC.  33 

"  Various  Forms  of  Idolatry ;  "  and — the  first  plate 
iv  presenting  the  burning  at  the  stake  of  a  "  Popish  witch  " 
— he  had  pointed  out  to  his  brothers  that  the  black  and 
profuse  hair  of  the  young  woman  in  the  flames  very  much 
resembled  the  hair  of  Coquette.  It  was  but  a  suggestion  ; 
yet  Rabbie,  another  of  the  brothers,  expressed  the  belief  that 
there  were  witches  in  these  days  also,  that  they  were 
emissaries  of  the  "  deevil,"  and  that  it  behoved  every  one 
who  wished  to  save  his  soul  to  guard  against  such  fiends  in 
disguise,  and,  above  all,  never  to  repeat  any  charm  after 
them  towards  twelve  of  the  night. 

Coquette  rose  from  the  piano. 

"  Who  is  going  to  play  for  me  now  ?  "  she  said,  looking  at 
the  boys. 

A  loud  guffaw  ran  down  the  line  of  them — the  notion  of 
a  boy  being  able  to  play  on  the  piano  was  irresistibly 
ludicrous. 

"  Have  you  not  learned  at  theschool  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
must  know  some  pieces  to  play." 

"  Frenchmen  may  learn  to  play  the  piano,"  said  the 
Whaup,  with  an  air  of  calm  superiority,  "  but  men  in 
this  country  have  something  else  to  do." 

"  What  is  it  you  do  ? "  said  Coquette,  simply,  having 
quite  misunderstood  the  remark.  "  You  play  not  the  piano  : 
is  it  the  violin — the — the  flute— one  learns  here  at  the 
school  ?  " 

"  We  dinna  learn  music  at  the  schule,  ye  gowk,"  said  one 
of  the  boys. 

"  No,  nor  manners  either,"  said  the  Whaup,  firing  up 
at  the  last  word. 

At  this  juncture  the  Minister  gravely  thanked  Coquette  for 
the  pleasure  her  music  had  given  him,  and  left  the  room.  No 
sooner  had  he  gone  than  the  Whaup  ordered  his  brothers  to 
follow.  They  seemed  inclined  to  show  a  spirit  of  insubor- 
dination. 

"  Out  every  one  o1  ye  !  "  he  cried,  "  or  I'll  leather  ye  in  a 
lump  ! " 

This  somewhat  dictatorial  proceeding  left  him  master  of 
the  field.     So  he  turned  to  Coquette,  and  said — 

"Ye  wanted  to  hear  some  music.  There  is  but  one 
musician  in  Airlie  forbye  the  Precentor.     I  mean  Neil  the 

D 


34  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Pensioner.  He's  a  famous  player  on  the  fiddle — an  out-and- 
out  player,  ye  may  take  my  word  for't.  Will  I  go  and  bring 
him  to  ye  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  come." 

"  Oh,  I'll  bring  him,"  said  the  Whaup,  confidently. 

"  But  it  rains  much,"  said  Coquette,  looking  out  on  the 
disconsolate  grey  landscape,  the  dripping  trees,  and  the 
lowering  sky. 

The  Whaup  laughed  aloud,  as  his  long  legs  carried  him 
down  the  soft  red  road  over  the  moor  towards  the  village. 
He  was  no  timid  French  creature,  brought  up  under  fair 
skies,  that  he  should  dread  a  temporary  wetting.  When  he 
arrived  at  Neil  Lamont's  cottage,  the  rain  was  running  down 
his  face,  and  he  only  blew  it  from  his  mouth  and  flung  it 
from  his  fingers  as  he  burst  into  the  astonished  Pensioner's 
presence,  and  bade  him  bundle  up  his  fiddle  and  come  along. 

The  Pensioner,  as  he  was  called,  was  a  tall,  spare  old 
Highlandman,  somewhat  bent  now,  with  scanty  grey  hair, 
and  dazed,  mild  grey  eyes,  who  had  been  at  Waterloo.  He 
represented  at  once  the  martial  and  musical  aspects  of  Airlie. 
His  narrative  of  the  events  of  Waterloo  had  gradually, 
during  many  years,  become  more  and  more  full  of  personal 
detail,  until  the  old  man  at  last  firmly  believed  that  he 
himself,  in  his  own  proper  person,  had  witnessed  the  whole 
of  the  battle,  and  been  one  of  the  chief  heroes  of  the  hour. 
Napoleon,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  he  described  minutely  ; 
and  the  inhabitants  of  Airlie  had  learned  to  picture  the  rage 
and  mortification  visible  on  the  face  of  the  great  commander 
when  he  saw  Neil  rushing  on  to  victory  over  the  dead  bodies 
of  six  French  grenadiers,  whom  the  hardy  Highlander  had 
overcome.  Waterloo  had  grown  to  be  a  great  panorama  for 
him  ;  and  he  would  unroll  it  at  any  moment,  and  name  you 
every  object  and  person  in  the  picture. 

He  was  the  village  musician,  too,  and  was  in  much  request 
at  balls,  marriages,  and  other  celebrations.  The  old  man 
was  singularly  sensitive  to  music,  and  the  wicked  boys  of  the 
village  used  to  practise  on  his  weakness.  When  they  saw 
the  Pensioner  out  walking,  they  would  begin  to  whistle  some 
military  march — "The  Campbells  are  coming,"  "The  Girl  I 
left  behind  me,"  or  "What's  a'  the  steer,  kinnner" — and 
you  could  see  the  Pensioner  draw  himself  up,  and  go  on  with 


COQUETTE'S  MUSIC.  35 

a  military  swagger,  with  his  head  erect.  As  for  his  own 
musical  efforts,  was  there  anybody  in  the  west  of  Scotland 
who  could  play  "The  East  Neuk  0'  Fife"  with  such  tre- 
mendous "  spunk  ?  " 

"When  the  Pensioner  was  told  that  he  had  to  play  to  a 
young  French  lady,  he  was  a  proud  man. 

"  Ye  will  na  sink,"  he  observed  to  the  Whaup  in  his 
curious  jumble  of  Lowland  and  Highland  pronunciation, 
"sat  I  will  hurt  sa  leddy's  feelins.  No.  Our  prave  regi- 
ments sent  sa  French  fleein'  at  Waterloo  ;  but  I  will  speak 
jist  nae  word  apoot  it.  I  sweer  till't — she  will  not  even  pe 
sinkin  I  wass  at  Waterloo." 

Coquette  received  him  graciously ;  the  old  Highlander 
was  respectful,  and  yet  dignified,  in  return.  He  gently  declined 
to  show  her  his  medal — fearful  that  the  word  "  Waterloo  " 
would  pain  her.  He  would  not  say  a  word  about  his 
soldiering — was  it  good  manners  to  insult  a  beaten  foe  ? 

But  he  would  play  for  her.  He  took  his  fiddle  from  its 
,  and  sat  down,  and  played  her  all  manner  of  reels  and 
strathspeys — but  no  military  music. 

"  Wha  will  ken,"  he  whispered  significantly  to  the  Whaup, 
"  put  sat  she  will  have  heard  0'  our  victorious  tunes  ?  Na, 
na.     Neil  Lamont  kens  how  to  pehave  hinisel'  to  a  leddy." 

And,  in  return,  Coquette  sat  down  to  the  piano.  There 
was  one  Scotch  air — "  Wha'll  be  King  but  Charlie  " — which 
her  father  was  particularly  fond  of.  When  she  struck  into 
that  bold  and  stirring  piece  of  music,  with  all  the  agencies 
of  harmonious  chords,  the  old  Highlander  sat  at  first  ap- 
parently stupefied.  He  had  never  known  the  majesty  and 
the  power  that  could  be  lent  to  the  tune  which  boys  played 
on  penny  whistles.  But  as  he  became  familiar  with  the  rich 
and  splendid  sounds,  he  became  more  and  more  excited.  He 
time  with  his  foot;  he  slapped  his  thigh  with  his 
hand  ;  he  kept  his  head  erect,  and  looked  defiance.  Sud- 
denly he  seemed  to  forget  the  presence  of  the  Whaup,  who 
was  s.atcd  in  a  corner;  he  started  to  his  feet,  and  began 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  waving  the  bow  of  his  violin 
as  if  it  were  a  sword.  Anil  all  at  oin'e  Coquette  heard  behind 
her  the  shrill  and  quavering  notes  of  an  old  man's  voice — 

"Come  ower  sa  he;ither!   come  a'  together  1 
Come  Ronald,  an'  Tonald,  an'  a'  together ! " 

D   2 


36  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and,  when  she  turned  round,  the  old  Highlandman,  as  one 
possessed,  was  marching  up  and  down  the  chamber,  with  his 
head  high  in  the  air,  and  tears  running  down  his  withered 
grey  cheeks. 

"Aw,  Dyeea!"  he  cried,  as  he  sank  shamefacedly  into  a 
chair.  "  I  have  never  heard  sa  like  o'  sat  not  since  sa  day  I 
will  pe  porn  I  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

EARLSHOPE. 

How  fair,  and  fresh,  and  green  looked  the  grounds  of 
Earlshope  on  the  next  day,  when  Mr.  Cassilis  and  Coquette 
drew  near.  The  warm  sun  had  come  out  again,  and  the  air 
was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  the  wet  trees.  Masses  of  white 
cloud  still  came  up  from  the  south,  sweeping  over  the 
dark,  clear  blue  of  the  sky  ;  and  the  peaks  of  Arran,  set  far 
amid  the  sea,  were  pale  and  faint  in  a  haze  of  silver 
light. 

Coquette  was  merry-hearted.  The  sunshine  seemed  to 
please  her  as  it  pleased  the  butterflies  and  the  bees  that  wrere 
again  abroad.  As  she  went  down  the  moorland  path,  she 
laughed  and  chatted  with  the  Minister,  and  was  constantly, 
out  of  pure  lightness  of  spirit,  breaking  into  exclamations  in 
her  native  tongue — on  which  she  would  suddenly  recall 
herself  with  a  pout  of  impatience  and  resume  her  odd  and 
quaint  English  talk. 

The  Whaup  had  been  ill-tempered  on  setting  forth  ;  but 
the  sunlight  and  the  bright  life  around  him  thawed  his 
sulkiness,  and  he  became  merely  mischievous.  His  brothers 
perceived  his  mood,  and  kept  out  of  his  way.  He  was  in 
the  humour  for  rough  practical  jokes  ;  and  no  one  of  them 
wished  to  be  tripped  up  and  sent  into  the  red-coloured 
"  burn  "  that  still  ran  down  between  the  moor  and  the  road 
to  the  little  stream  in  the  hollow. 

When  they  had  passed  the  keeper's  lodge,  and  gone  under 
a  winding  avenue  of  trees,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  big 
stone  building  and  the  bright  green  lawn  in  front  of  it. 
They  also  saw  their  host  seated  beside  a  stone  lion,  smoking 
a  cigar,  and  watching  the  operations  of  a  lad  who,  mounted 


EARLSHOPE.  37 

on  the  pedestal  of  a  statue  of  Venus,  was  busily  engaged  in 
giving  that  modest  but  scantily  clad  young  woman  a  coating 
of  white  paint. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  curious  ?  "  he  said,  when 
lit'  had  bade  them  welcome.  "  Look  at  the  rude  indifference 
with  which  he  comes  over  her  nose,  and  gives  her  a  slap 
on  the  cheek,  and  tickles  her  neck  with  his  brush !  I 
have  been  wondering  what  she  would  do  if  she  were  to 
come  alive — whether  she  would  scream  and  run  away,  or 
rise  up  in  indignant  silence,  or  give  him  a  sound  box  on 
the  ears." 

"  If  she  were  to  come  alive,"  said  Coquette,  "  he  would 
be  made  blind  with  fear,  and  she  would  fly  up  into  the 
heavens." 

" Et  p'ocul  in  temiem  ex  oculis  evanuit  auram"  said  the 
^Minister,  graciously,  with  a  smile.  He  had  not  aired  so 
much  Latin  for  years. 

They  had  a  walk  round  the  grounds,  skirting  the  not 
very  extensive  park,  before  they  turned  into  the  garden. 
Here  everything  was  heavy  with  perfume  in  the  sweet,  warm 
air.  They  went  into  the  hothouses  and  vineries  ;  and  Lord 
Earlshope  found  a  bunch  of  muscatel  grapes  ripe  enough  to 
be  cut  for  Coquette.  No  sooner  had  she  placed  one  between 
her  lips  than  she  cried  out — 

"  Oh,  how  like  to  the  vine  !    I  have  not  tasted " 

She  looked  at  the  Minister,  and  hastily  stopped  her 
speech. 

"  You  have  not  tasted  muscatel  grapes  in  this  country," 
said  Lord  Earlshope,  coming  to  her  relief ;  and  he  looked 
at  her  with  a  peculiar  smile,  as  much  as  to  say  "  I  know 
you  meant  wine." 

The  boys  preferring  to  remain  in  the  garden  (the  Whaup 
walked  off  by  himself  into  the  park,  under  pretence  of 
seeking  a  peculiar  species  of  Potent  Ma),  Lord  Earlshope  led 
his  two  principal  guests  back  to  the  house,  and  proceeded  to 
show  them  its  curiosities  in  the  way  of  pictures,  old  armour, 
old  furniture,  and  the  like.  Coquette  got  so  familiarised  to 
his  voice  and  look  that  she  forgot  he  was  but  a  distant 
acquaintance.  She  did  not  know  that  she  stared  at  him 
while  he  was  talking,  or  that  she  spoke  to  him  with  a 
pleasant  carelessness  which  was  oddly  out  of  keeping  with 


38  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  Minister's  grave  and  formal  courtesy.  She  was 
not  even  aware  that  she  was  taking  note  of  his  appear- 
ance ;  and  that,  after  they  had  left,  she  would  be  able  to 
recall  every  lineament  in  his  face  as  well  as  every  tone  of 
his  voice. 

Lord  Earlshope  was  a  fair-haired,  gentlemanly-looking 
young  man  of  some  twenty-six  or  twenty-eight  years  of  age. 
He  was  rather  over  the  middle  height,  slimly  built,  and 
inclined  to  lounge  carelessly.  The  expression  of  his  eyes, 
which  were  large,  grey,  and  clear,  varied  singularly — at  one 
time  being  full  of  a  critical  and  somewhat  cold  scrutiny, 
and  at  other  times  pensive  and  distant.  He  said  he  had  no 
politics  and  no  prejudices — unless  a  very  definite  belief  in 
■'  blood  "  could  be  considered  a  prejudice. 

"  It  is  no  superstition  with  me,"  he  said,  with  apparent 
carelessness,  to  the  Minister,  as  the  latter  was  examining  a 
strange  old  family  tree  hung  up  in  the  library.  "  I  merely 
think  it  imprudent  for  a  man  of  good  family  to  marry  out 
of  his  own  class.  I  have  seen  the  experiment  made  by  some 
of  my  own  acquaintances  ;  and,  as  a  rule,  the  result  has 
been  disastrous.  .  .  .  Disastrous,  yes,"  he  went  on  slowly, 
with  a  curious  look  coming  over  his  face.  "  Yes,  indeed,  a 
disaster " 

But  at  this  moment  Coquette  came  back  from  the  book- 
shelves, with  a  large  thin  quarto  in  her  hands. 

"  Look  what  I  have  found,"  she  said.  "  A  volume  of  old 
chants." 

"  It  is  treasure-trove,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  with  his  face 
lightening  at  her  approach.  "  I  had  no  idea  there  was  such 
a  book  in  the  place.  Shall  we  go  and  try  some  of  them  ? 
You  know  you  promised  to  give  me  your  opinion  of  the 
organ  I  have  had  fitted  up." 

"  I  did  not  promise  it,  but  I  will  do  it,"  said  Coquette. 

He  led  the  way  down-stairs  to  the  drawing-room,  which 
they  had  not  yet  visited.  The  tall  chamber-organ,  a  hand- 
some and  richly  decorated  instrument,  stood  in  a  recess,  and 
therefore  did  not  seem  so  cumbrous  as  it  might  otherwise 
have  done. 

"  The  defect  of  the  organ,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  as  he 
placed  the  music  for  her,  "  is  that  the  operation  of  blowing 
the  bellows  is  performed  in  sight  of  the  public.    You  see, 


EARLSHOPE.  39 

I  must  fix  in  this  handle,  and  work  it  while  you  are 
playing." 

"  You  must  get  a  screen,"  she  said,  "  and  put  a  servant 
there." 

"  While  you  are  playing,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  let  any- 
body else  assist  you  even  in  so  rude  a  fashion." 

Coquette  laughed  and  sat  down.  Presently,  the  solemn 
tones  of  the  organ  were  pealing  out  a  rich  and  beautiful 
chant — full  of  the  quaint  and  impressive  harmonies  which 
the  monks  of  old  pondered  over  and  elaborated.  If  Mr. 
Cass i lis  was  troubled  by  a  suspicion  that  this  noble  music 
of  distinctly  Roman  Catholic  or  idolatrous  origin,  that 
doubt  became  a  certainty  when,  at  the  end  of  the  chant, 
there  came  a  long  and  wailing  "Amen  ! "  rolled  out  by  the 
organ's  deep  voice. 

"  You  play  excellently — you  must  be  familiar  with  organ 
playing,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  It  is  not  every  one  who 
knows  the  piano  who  can  perform  on  an  organ." 

"  At  home  the  old  cure  used  to  let  me  play  in  the  church," 
she  said — with  her  eyes  grown  suddenly  distant  and  sad. 
She  had  remembered  that  her  home  no  longer  lay  away 
down  there  in  the  south,  where  life  seemed  so  pleasant. 

"  Come,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  I  hear  Sandy  about  to 
ring  the  bell  for  luncheon.  Shall  we  go  into  the  room  at 
once,  or  wait  for  the  boys  ?  " 

"  They  will  have  their  luncheon  off  your  fruit  trees,  I  am 
afraid,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis. 

Nevertheless,  the  boys  were  sent  for,  and  arrived,  looking 
rather  afraid.  The  Whaup  was  not  with  them  ;  no  one 
knew  whither  he  had  gone. 

Lord  Earlshope's  household  was  far  from  being  an 
usive  one  ;  and  Mr.  Cassilis'  boys  found  themselves 
waited  on  by  two  maid-servants  who  were  well  known  to 
them  as  having  !>een  made  the  subject  of  many  tricks  ; 
while  Sandy,  his  lordship's  valet,  butler,  courier,  and 
general  factotum — a  tall  and  redheaded  Scotchman,  who, 
by  reason  of  his  foreign  travels,  had  acquired  a  profound 
contempt  for  everything  in  his  own  country — approached 
^Iiss  Cassilis  with  a  lofty  air,  and,  standing  behind  her  at 
some  little  distance  from  the  table,  extended  a  bottle  of 
Chablis  so  as  to  reach  her  glass. 


40  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Miss  Cassilis,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  what  wine  will 
remind  yon  most  of  the  Loire  ?  " 

It  had  been  her  own  thought,  and  she  looked  up  with  a 
quick  and  grateful  smile. 

"  My  father  left  me  a  fail*  assortment  of  Bordeaux 
wines "  he  said. 

"  But  no  vin  ordinaire  ?  "  she  interposed,  with  another 
bright  glance. 

"I  must  go  myself  to  get  you  that,"  he  answered, 
laughing,  "  Sandy  does  not  know  how  to  manufacture  it." 

Before  she  could  protest  he  had  left  the  room,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  had  returned  with  a  bottle  in  his  hand,  and 
with  the  air  of  a  conjuror  on  his  face.  He  himself  filled 
her  glass,  and  Coquette  drank  a  little  of  it. 

"  Ah ! "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  "  I  think  I  can 
hear  old  Nannette  talking  outside,  and  the  river  running 
underneath  us  ;  it  is  like  being  at  home — as  if  I  were  at 
home  again ! " 

She  fondled  the  glass  as  if  it  were  a  magical  talisman 
that  had  transported  her  over  the  sea,  and  would  have  to 
bring  her  back. 

"I  must  taste  some  of  that  wizard  wine,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  humorous  smile — and  the  boys  stared 
with  wonder  to  hear  their  father  talking  about  drinking 
wine. 

"  Pray  don't,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  their  host,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  is  merely  some  new  and  rough  claret  to  which  I  added 
a  little  water — the  nearest  approximation  to  vin  ordinaire  I 
could  think  of.  Since  your  niece  is  so  pleased  with  the 
Earlshope  vintage,  I  think  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  send 
her  a  supply  to  the  Manse.  It  is  quite  impossible  you  can 
get  it  elsewhere,  as  I  keep  the  recipe  in  my  own  hands." 

"  And  this  is  French  bread  !  "  said  Coquette,  startled  out 
of  her  good  manners  by  perceiving  before  her  a  long, 
narrow,  brown  loaf. 

"  Have  I  been  so  fortunate  as  to  create  another  surprise  ?  " 
said  Lord  Earlshope.  "I  telegraphed  for  that  bread  to 
Glasgow,  if  I  must  tell  you  all  my  housekeeping  secrets." 

It  soon  became  clear  that  the  indolent  young  man,  having 
nothing  better  to  do,  had  laid  his  plans  to  get  a  thoroughly 
French  repast  prepared  for  Coquette.     Every  little  dish  that 


EARLSHOPE.  \l 

was  offered  her — the  red  mullet,  the  bit  of  fowl,  the  dry 
boiled  beef  and  thick  sauce,  the  plate  of  salad — was  another 
wonder  and  another  reminiscence  of  the  south.  Why,  it 
was  only  a  few  days  since  she  had  arrived  in  Scotland,  and 
yet  it  seemed  ages  since  she  had  sat  down  to  such  another 
pretty  French  breakfast  as  this  practically  was.  She  sipped 
her  via  ordinaire,  and  toyed  with  the  various  dishes  that 
were  offered  her — accepting  all,  and  taking  a  little  bit  of 
each  for  the  very  pleasure  of  "  thinking  back  " — with  such 
evident  delight  that  even  Mr.  Cassilis  smiled  benignantly. 
The  boys  at  the  Manse — like  other  boys  in  Scotland — had 
been  taught  that  it  was  extremely  ignominious  to  experience 
or  exhibit  any  enjoyment  in  the  vulgar  delights  of  eating 
and  drinking  ;  but  surely  in  the  pleased  surprise  with  which 
Coquette  regarded  the  French  table  around  her,  there  was 
little  of  the  sensuous  satisfaction  of  the  gourmand. 

She  was  altogether  delighted  wTith  this  visit  to  Earlshope. 
As  they  went  back  to  the  Manse,  she  was  in  the  most 
cheerful  of  moods,  and  fairly  fascinated  the  grave  Minister 
with  her  quaint,  broken  talk.  She  never  ceased  to  speak  of 
the  place — of  its  grounds,  its  gardens,  its  books,  and  what 
not — even  to  the  brightness  of  the  atmosphere  around  it ; 
until  Mr.  Cassilis  asked  her  if  she  thought  the  sky  was  blue 
only  over  Earlshope. 

"  But  I  hope  he  will  not  send  the  wine — it  was  a — what 
you  call  it  ? — joke,  was  it  not  ?  "  she  said. 

"  A  joke,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis.  "  "We  are  very 
proud  in  this  country,  and  do  not  take  presents  from  rich 
people." 

"  But  I  am  not  of  your  country,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  If  he  sends  his  stupid  vin  ordinaire,  he  sends  it  to  me  ;  and 
I  will  not  drink  it — you  shall  drink  it  all.  Did  he  say  he  is 
coming  over  to  see  you  soon  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  replied  the  Minister  ;  "  but  since  the  ice  is 
broken,  nothing  is  more  likely." 

The  phrase  about  the  ice  puzzled  Coquette  much  :  when 
it  had  been  explained  to  her,  they  had  already  reached  the 
Manse.  But  where  was  the  Whaup  ?  Nobody  had  seen 
him. 


42  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   CRUCIFIX. 

"  I  AM  going  to  sea,"  said  the  Whaup,  suddenly  presenting 
himself  before  Coquette.  She  looked  up  with  her  soft  dark 
eyes,  and  said — 

"  Why  you  go  to  sea  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  the  Whaup — evidently  casting  about  for 
an  excuse — "  because  the  men  of  this  country  should  be  a 
seafaring  race,  as  their  forefathers  were.  We  cannot  all  be 
living  in  big  towns,  and  becoming  clerks.  I  am  for  a 
hardier  life.  I  am  sick  of  staying  at  home.  I  cannot  bear 
this  idling  any  more.  I  have  been  down  to  the  coast ;  and 
when  I  smell  the  salt  air,  and  see  the  waves  come  tumbling 
in,  I  hate  to  turn  my  face  to  the  land  again." 

There  was  a  sort  of  shamefaced  enthusiasm  in  the  lad's 
manner  ;  and  Coquette,  as  she  again  regarded  him,  perceived 
that,  although  he  believed  all  he  had  said,  that  was  not  the 
cause  of  his  hasty  determination.  Yet  the  boy  looked  every 
inch  a  sailor — the  sun-brown  hair  thrown  back  from  his 
handsome  face,  and  the  clear  light  shining  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  There  is  something  else,"  said  the  girl.  "  Why  you  say 
nothing  of  all  this  before  ?  Why  do  you  wish  to  become  a 
sailor  all  at  once  ?  " 

"  And,  if  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he,  with  a  sudden  fierce- 
ness, "  I  will.  I  don't  choose  to  stay  here  to  see  what  I 
know  will  happen.  You  are  surprised  ?  Perhaps.  But 
you  are  a  mere  child.  You  have  been  brought  up  in  a 
French  convent,  or  some  such  place.  You  think  everybody 
in  the  world  is  like  yourself,  and  you  make  friends  with  any- 
body. You  think  they  are  all  as  good  and  as  kind  as  your- 
self ;  and  you  are  so  light-hearted,  you  never  stop  to  think 
or  to  suspect.  Enough  ;  you  may  go  on  your  way,  in  spite 
of  warning ;  but  I  will  not  remain  here  to  see  my  family 
disgraced  by  your  becoming  the  friend  and  companion  of  a 
man  like  Lord  Earlshope." 

He  spoke  warmly  and  indignantly  ;  and  the  girl  rather 


THE  CRUCIFIX.  43 

cowed  before  him,  until  he  uttered  the  fatal  word 
"  disgrace." 

"  Disgrace  ! "  she  repeated,  and  a  quick  light  sprang  to 
her  eyes.  "  I  have  disgraced  no  one,  not  any  time  in  my 
life  !  I  will  choose  my  own  friends,  and  I  will  not  be 
suspicious.  You  are  worse  than  the  woman  here :  she 
wants  me  to  believe  myself  bad  and  wicked.  Perhaps  I  am 
— I  do  not  know — but  I  will  not  begin  to  suspect  my 
friends  of  being  bad.  If  he  is  so  bad,  why  does  your  father 
go  to  his  house  ?  " 

"My  father  is  as  simple  as  you  are,"  said  the  "Whaup, 
contemptuously. 

"  Then  it  is  only  that  you  are  suspicious  ?  I  did  not 
think  it  of  you." 

She  looked  hurt  and  vexed  ;  and  a  great  compunction 
filled  the  heart  of  the  "Whaup. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  firmly  (and  in  much  better  English 
than  was  customary  with  him),  "  you  are  my  cousin,  and  it 
is  my  business  to  warn  you  when  you  are  likely  to  get  into 
trouble.  But  don't  imagine  I  am  going  to  persecute  you. 
No.  You  may  do  as  you  please.  Perhaps  you  are  quite 
right.  Perhaps  it  is  only  that  I  am  suspicious.  But,  as 
you  are  my  cousin,  I  don't  wish  to  stand  by  and  see  what  is 
likely  to  happen  ;  and  so  I  am  going  away.  The  sea  will  suit 
me  better  than  a  college  life,  or  a  doctor  s  shop,  or  a  pulpit." 

Coquette  rose  from  her  seat,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  in  deep  distress. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  I  who  must  go.  I  bring 
wretchedness  when  I  come  here — my  friends  are  made 
miserable — it  is  my  fault.  I  should  not  have  come.  In 
France  I  was  very  nappy ;  they  used  to  call  me  the  peace- 
maker at  school  ;  and  all  the  people  there  were  cheerful  and 
kind.  Here  I  am  wicked — I  do  not  know  how — and  the 
cause  of  contention  and  pain.  Ah,  why  you  go  away 
because  of  me  ! "  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  she  took  his 
hand,  while  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  "  It  does  not  matter 
to  me  if  I  go — I  am  nobody  ;  I  have  no  home  to  break  up. 
I  can  go  away,  and  nobody  the  worse." 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  he  said, 
frankly.  "  But  if  you  go,  I  will  go  with  you — to  take  care 
of  you." 


U  A  DAUGHTER  OF  BETH. 

Coquette  laughed. 

"  You  are  incomprehensible,"  she  said.  "  Why  not  take 
care  of  me  here  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  that  duty  ?  "  he  asked,  calmly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  smile,  "  you  shall  take  care 
of  me  as  much — as  much  as  you  can." 

"  Mind,  it  is  no  joke,"  said  he.  "  If  I  resolve  to  take  care 
of  you,  I  will  do  it ;  and  anybody  interfering " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"  You  will  fight  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  and  leading  him  over  to  the  window.  "  Do  you 
see  those  clouds  away  over  the  sea — how  they  come  on,  and 
on,  and  go  away  ?  These  are  the  moods  of  a  man — his 
promises — his  intentions.  But  overhead  do  you  see  the 
blue  sky  ? — that  is  the  patience  of  a  woman.  Sometimes 
the  clouds  are  dark— sometimes  white — but  the  sky  is  always 
the  same  :  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Hm  ! "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  touch  of  scorn,  "  that  is 
the  romantic  stuff  they  teach  you  at  your  French  school,  is 
it  ?  It  is  very  pretty,  but  it  isn't  true.  A  man  has  more 
patience  and  more  steadfastness  than  a  woman.  What  you 
meant  was,  I  suppose,  that  whatever  I  might  be  to  you,  you 
would  always  be  the  same  to  me.  Perhaps  so  !  We  shall 
see  in  a  few  years.  But  you  will  never  find  any  difference 
in  me — after  any  number  of  years — if  you  want  somebody  to 
take  your  part.  You  may  remember  what  I  say  now  after- 
wards." 

"I  think  I  could  always  trust  you,"  she  said,  looking 
rather  wistfully  at  him  with  those  dark  eyes  that  he  had 
almost  ceased  to  regard  as  foreign  and  strange.  "  You  have 
been  very  good  to  me  since  I  came  here." 

"  And  I  have  found  out  something  new  for  you,"  he  said, 
eagerly — so  glad  was  he  to  fix  and  establish  those  amicable 
relations.  "  I  hear  you  were  pleased  because  Lord  Earlshope 
had  French  things  for  you  to  eat  and  drink  ?  " 

"Yes — I  was  pleased,"  she  said,  timidly,  and  looking 
down. 

"  But  you  don't  know  that  there  is  a  town  close  by  here  as 
like  St.  Nazaire  as  it  can  be  :  would  ye  not  like  to  see  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "  she  said. 

"  Come  and  see,"  he  replied. 


THE  CRUCIFIX  45 

Coquette  very  speedily  discovered  that  the  Whaup,  refusing 
to  accept  of  Lord  Earlshope's  invitation,  had  gone  off  by 
himself  on  a  visit  to  Saltcoats  ;  that  he  had  fallen  in  with 
some  sailors  there  ;  that  he  had  begun  talking  with  them  of 
France  and  of  the  French  seaports  ;  and  that  one  of  the  men 
had  delighted  him  by  saying  that  on  one  side  the  very  town 
he  was  in  resembled  the  old  place  at  the  mouth  of  the  Loire. 
Of  course  Miss  Coquette  was  in  great  anxiety  to  know  where 
this  favoured  town  was  situated ;  and  would  at  once  have 
started  off  in  quest  of  it. 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  your  parlour,  and  I  will  show  it  to  you," 
said  the  Whaup. 

So  they  went  up-stairs,  and  went  to  the  window.  It  was 
getting  towards  the  afternoon  ;  and  a  warm  light  from  the 
south-west  lay  over  the  fair  yellow  country,  with  its  dark 
lines  of  hedge  and  copse,  its  ruddy  streaks  of  sand,  and  the 
distant  glimmer  of  a  river.  Seaward  there  was  a  lowering 
which  presaged  a  storm  ;  and  the  black  line  of  the  Saltcoats 
houses  fronted  a  plain  of  water  winch  had  a  peculiar  light 
shining  along  its  surface. 

"That  is  the  town,"  said  the  Whaup,  pointing  with  a 
calm  air  of  pride  to  Saltcoats. 

"I  see  nothing  but  a  line  of  slates,  and  a  church  that 
seems  to  stand  out  in  the  sea,"  said  Coquette,  with  some 
disappointment. 

"  But  you  must  go  down  to  it  to  find  the  old  stone  wall, 
and  the  houses  built  over  it,  and  the  pier  and  harbour " 

"Ah,  is  it  like  that  ?  "  cried  his  companion,  clasping  her 
hands.  "Is  it  like  St.  Nazaire  ?  Are  there  boats? — and 
an  old  church  ? — and  narrow  streets  ?  Oh,  that  we  go  there 
now  !  " 

*•  Would  you  rather  see  that  than  drink  Lord  Earlshope's 
rin  ordinaire  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  cold  severity. 

"  Pah  ! "  she  cried,  petulantly.  "  You  do  give  me  no 
peace  with  your  Lord  Earlshope  !  I  wish  you  would  fight 
him,  not  frighten  me  with  such  nonsense.  I  will  believe 
you  are  jealous — you  stupid  boy  !  But  if  you  will  take  me 
to  St.  Nazaire — to  this  place — I  will  forgive  you  everything, 
and  I  will — what  can  I  do  for  you  ! — I  will  kiss  you — I  will 
sew  a  handkerchief  for  you — anythin 

The  Whaup  blushed  very  red,  but  frowned  all  the  same. 


46  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  will  take  you  to  Saltcoats,"  said  he  ;  "  but  we  in  this 
country  don't  like  young  ladies  to  be  so  free  with  their 
favours." 

Coquette  looked  rather  taken  down,  and  only  ventured  to 
say,  by  way  of  submissive  apology — 

"  You  are  my  cousin,  you  know." 

They  were  about  to  slip  out  of  the  house  unperceived, 
when  Leezibeth  confronted  them. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Miss,  but  I  would  like  to  hae  a  word 
wi'  ye,"  she  said,  in  a  determined  tone,  as  she  blocked  up 
their  way. 

The  Whaup  began  to  look  fierce. 

"  It  is  seventeen  years  come  Michaelmas,"  said  Leezibeth, 
in  set  and  measured  tones,  "  since  I  cam'  to  this  house,  and 
a  pious  and  God-fearing  house  it  has  been,  as  naebody  will 
gainsay.  We  who  are  but  servants  have  done  our  pairt,  I 
hope,  to  preserve  its  character  ;  though  in  His  sight  there 
are  nae  servants  and  nae  masters,  for  he  poureth  contempt 
upon  princes,  and  causeth  them  to  wander  in  the  wilderness, 
and  yet  setteth  the  poor  on  high  from  affliction,  and  maketh 
him  families  like  a  flock.  I  wouldna  distinguish  between 
master  and  servant  in  the  house  ;  but  when  the  master  is 
blind  to  the  things  of  his  household,  then  it  would  ill  become 
an  honest  servant,  not  afraid  to  give  her  testimony " 

"  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  your  talk  is  like  a  crop  o' 
grass  after  three  months'  rain.  It's  good  for  neither  man 
nor  beast,  being  but  a  Hash  0'  ivater." 

"  As  for  ye,  sir,"  retorted  Leezibeth,  angrily,  "  it  was  an 
ill  day  for  ye  that  ye  turned  aside  to  dangle  after  an  idle 
woman " 

"  As  sure  as  daith,  Leezibeth,"  said  tb,e  Whaup,  in  his 
strongest  vernacular,  "I'll  gar  ye  gang  skelpin'  through 
the  air  like  a  splinter  if  ye  dinna  keep  a  civil  tongue  in 
your  head  !  " 

"  But  what  is  it  all  about  ?  "  said  Coquette,  in  deep 
dismay.  "  What  have  I  done  ?  Have  I  done  any  more 
Avrong  ?     I  know  not — you  must  tell  me " 

"  And  is  it  not  true,  Miss,"  said  Leezibeth,  fixing  her 
keen  grey  eye  on  the  culprit,  "  that  ye  daur  to  keep  a 
crucifix — the  symbol  of  the  Avoman  that  sits  on  seven  hills — 
right  aboon  your  head  in  your  bed ;  and  have  introduced 


THE  CRUCIFIX.  47 

this  polluting  tiling  into  an  honest  man's  house,  to  work 
wickedness  wi',  and  set  a  snare  before  our  feet  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  seven  hills,  or  a 
woman,"  said  Coquette,  humbly.  "  I  thought  the  cross  was 
a  symbol  of  all  religion.  If  it  annoys  you,  I  will  take  it 
down,  yes — but  my  mother  gave  it  to  me — I  cannot  put  it 
away  altogether.  I  will  hide  it,  if  it  annoys  you ;  but  I 
cannot — surely  you  will  not  ask  me  to  part  with  it  alto- 
gether  " 

"  You  shall  not  part  with  it,"  said  the  Wliaup,  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height.  "  Let  me  see  the  man  or 
woman  who  will  touch  that  crucifix,  though  it  had  on  it  the 
woman  o'  Babylon  herself  ! " 

Leezibeth  looked  dazed  for  a  moment.  It  was  almost 
impossible  that  such  words  should  have  been  uttered  by  the 
eldest  son  of  the  Minister  ;  and  for  a  moment  she  was 
inclined  to  disbelieve  the  testimony  of  her  ears.  Yet  there 
before  her  stood  the  lad,  tall,  proud,  handsome,  with  his 
eyes  burning  and  his  teeth  set.  And  there  beside  him  stood 
the  witch-woman  who  had  wrought  this  perversion  in  him 
— who  had  come  to  work  destruction  in  this  quiet  fold. 

u  I  maun  gang  to  the  Minister,"  said  Leezibeth,  in 
despair.  "  Andrew  and  I  maun  settle  this  maitter,  or  else 
set  out,  in  our  auld  age,  for  a  new  resting-place." 

"  And  the  sooner  the  Manse  is  rid  of  two  cantankerous 
old  idiots  the  better  !  "  said  the  Whaup. 

Leezibeth  bestowed  upon  him  a  glance  more  of  wonder 
and  fear  than  of  anger,  and  then  went  her  way. 

"  Come  ! "  said  the  Whanp  to  his  companion.  M  We  maun 
run  for  it,  or  we  shall  see  no  St.  Nazaire  this  night." 

Then  Coquette,  feeling  very  guilty,  found  herself 
stealing  away  from  the  Manse,  led  by  the  Minister's  dare- 
devil son. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BALTOOATS, 

The  two  fugitives  fled  from  the  Manse,  and  crossed  over 
the  moor,  and  went  down  to  the  road  leading  to  Saltcoats, 
in  very  diverse  moods.      The   Whanp  made   light  of   the 


48  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

affair  of  the  crucifix,  and  laughed  at  it  as  a  good  joke. 
Coquette  was  more  thoughtful,  and  a  trifle  angry. 

"  It  is  too  much,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  to 
make  enemies,  and  I  cannot  live  like  this — to  be  looked  at 
as  something  very  bad.  If  I  do  not  know  the  feelings  of 
your  country  about  music,  about  Sunday,  about  religion 
— and  it  seems  even  a  crime  that  I  shall  be  cheerful  at  times 
— why  not  tell  me  instead  of  to  scold  ?  I  will  do  what 
they  want,  but  I  will  not  be  treated  like  a  child.  It  is  too 
much — this  Leesiebess,  and  her  harsh  voice,  and  her 
scolding.  It  is  too  much — it  is  not  bearable— it  is  a  beastly 
shame ! " 

"  A  what  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  A  beastly  shame,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  rather 
timidly. 

The  Whaup  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Is  it  not  right  ?  "  she  said.  "  Papa  did  use  to  say  that 
when  he  was  indignant." 

"  Oh,  it  is  intelligible  enough,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  quite 
intelligible  ;  but  young  ladies  in  this  country  do  not  say  such 
things." 

"  I  will  remember,"  said  Coquette,  obediently. 

The  Whaup  now  proceeded  to  point  out  to  his  companion 
that,  after  all,  there  was  a  good  deal  to  be  said  on  the  side 
of  Leezibeth  and  her  husband  Andrew.  Coquette,  he  said, 
had  given  them  some  cause  to  complain.  The  people  of  the 
Manse — whom  Coquette  took  to  represent  the  people  of  the 
country — were  as  kind-hearted  as  people  anywhere  else  ;  but 
they  had  their  customs,  their  beliefs,  their  prejudices,  to 
which  they  clung  tenaciously,  just  like  people  elsewhere  ;  and, 
especially,  in  this  matter  of  the  crucifix,  she  had  wounded 
their  feelings  by  introducing  into  a  Protestant  Manse  the 
emblem  of  a  religion  which  they  regarded  with  horror. 

"  But  why  is  it  that  you  regard  any  religion  with  horror  ?  " 
said  Coquette.  "  If  it  is  religion,  I  do  think  it  cannot  be 
much  wicked !  If  you  do  bring  some  Protestant  emblem 
into  my  Catholic  church  I  shall  not  grumble — I  would  say, 
we  all  believe  in  the  one  God — you  may  have  a  share  of  my 
bench — you  may  pray  just  beside  me — and  we  all  look  to 
the  one  Father  who  is  kind  to  us." 

The  Whaup  shook  his  head. 


SALTCOATS.  49 

"  That  is  a  dangerous  notion  ;  but  I  cannot  argue  with 
you  about  it.  Everything  you  say,  everything  you  do,  is 
somehow  so  natural,  and  fitting,  and  easy,  that  it  seems  it 
mist  be  right.  It  is  all  a  part  of  yourself,  and  all  so 
perfect  that  nobody  would  have  it  altered,  even  if  you  were 
wrong." 

"  You  do  say  that  ? "  said  Coquette,  with  a  blush  of 
pleasure. 

"That  sort  of  vague  religious  sentiment  you  talk  of 
would  be  contemptible  in  anybody  else,  you  know,"  said  the 
Whaup.  frankly — "  it  would  show  either  weakness  of  reason- 
ing or  indifference  ;  but  in  you  it  is  something  that  makes 
people  like  you.  Why,  I  have  watched  you  again  and 
again  in  the  parlour  at  the  Manse  ;  and  whether  you  let 
your  hand  rest  on  the  table,  or  whether  you  look  out  of  the 
window,  or  whether  you  come  near  the  lire,  you  are  always 

y  and  graceful.  It  is  a  gift  you  have  of  making  yourself, 
without  knowing  it,  a  picture.  "When  you  came  out  just 
now,  I  thought  that  grey  woolly  shawl  round  your  shoulders 
was  pretty  ;  and  since  you  have  put  it  round  your  head,  it 
is  quite  charming.  You  can't  help  it.  And  so  you  can't 
help  that  light  and  cheerful  way  of  looking  at  religion,  and 
of  being  happy  and  contented,  and  of  making  yourself  a 
pleasure  to  the  people  round  about  you." 

Oo  [uette  began  to  laugh  ;  and  the  Whaup  came  to  an  un- 
comfortable stop  in  the  midst  of  his  rapid  enthusiasm. 

"When  you  talk  like  that,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  am 
again  in  France,  I  am  so  gay-hearted.  You  approve  of  me, 
t  luii  ?  "  she  added,  timorously. 

Approve  of  her  !  Was  it  possible  that  she  could  care  for 
his  approval  ?  And  in  what  language  could  he  express  his 
opinion  of  her  save  in  the  only  poetry  familiar  to  Airlie 
Manse  ? — "  The  King's  daughter  is  all  glorious  within  : 
her  clothing  is  of  wrought  gold.  She  shall  be  brought  unto 
the  King  in  raiment  of  needlework  :  the  virgins  her  com- 
panions that  follow  her  shall  be  brought  unto  thee.  With 
gladness  and  rejoicing  shall  they  be  brought:  they  shall 
enter  into  the  King's  palace."  Only,  this  King's  daughter 
was  without  companions — she  was  all  alone — and  the  Whaup 
wondered  how  this  pure  and  strange  jewel  came  to  be 
dropped  in  the  centre  of  a  Scotch  moor. 

E 


So  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

The  wind  was  blowing  hard  from  the  south-west — the 
region  of  rain.  Arran  was  invisible  ;  and  in  place  of  the 
misty  peaks  there  was  a  great  wall  of  leaden-grey  sky,  from 
the  base  of  which  came  lines  and  lines  of  white  waves, 
roaring  in  to  the  shore.  Coquette  drew  her  thick  plaid  more 
closely  around  her,  and  pressed  on  ;  for  St.  Nazaire  now  lay 
underneath  them — a  dark  line  of  houses  between  the  sea 
and  the  land. 

"  What  is  that  woman,"  said  Coquette,  looking  along  the 
road,  "who  stands  with  the  flowers  in  her  hand,  and  her 
hair  flying  ?  Is  she  mad  ?  Is  she  Ophelia  come  to 
Scotland  ?  " 

Mad  enough  the  girl  looked  ;  for  as  they  came  up  to  her, 
they  found  her  a  bonnie  Scotch  lassie  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
who  sobbed  at  intervals,  and  kept  casting  tearful  glances  all 
around  her.  She  carried  in  one  hand  her  bonnet,  in  the 
other  a  bunch  of  flowers  ;  and  the  wind  that  had  scattered 
the  flowers,  and  left  but  a  remnant  in  her  hand,  had  also 
unloosed  her  nut-brown  hair,  and  blown  it  in  tangled  masses 
about  her  face  and  neck.  She  stood  aside,  in  a  shamed 
way,  to  let  the  strangers  pass  ;  but  the  Whaup  stopped. 

"  "What  is  the  matter  wi'  ye,  lass  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  had  my  shoon  and  stockings  in  my  bundle,"  she  said, 
while  the  tears  welled  up  in  her  blue  eyes,  "  and  I  hae 
dropped  them  out ;  and  I  canna  gang  back  the  road  to  look 
for  them,  for  I  maun  be  in  Saltcoats  afore  kye-time." 

"  What  does  she  say  ?  "  asked  Coquette. 

"  She  has  only  lost  her  shoes  and  stockings,  that's  all," 
said  the  Whaup. 

"  But  it  is  bad  enough  for  her,  I  dare  say." 

In  an  instant  Coquette  had  out  her  purse — a  dainty  little 
Parisian  thing,  in  mother-of-pearl,  with  filagree  work  round 
it — and  taken  therefrom  two  Napoleons. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  going  forward  to  the  girl,  "  you  must 
not  cry  more  about  that.  Take  my  little  present,  and  you 
will  buy  more  shoes  and  more  stockings  for  yourself." 

The  girl  eyed  the  money  with  some  dismay  ;  and  probably 
wondered  if  this  was  not  a  temptress  who  had  suddenly 
appeared  to  offer  her  gold,  and  who  spoke  with  a  strange 
sound  in  her  voice. 

"  Dinna  be  a  sumph  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  who  could  talk 


SALTCOATS.  51 

broadly    enough    when    occasion    demanded.     "Take    the 
money  the  leddy  offers  ye,  and  thank  her  for't." 

The  girl  accepted  the  foreign-looking  coins,  and  seemed 
much  distressed  that — like  the  peasantry  of  Scotland  in 
general — she  did  not  know  how  to  express  the  gratitude  she 
felt  Her  thanks  were  in  her  eyes,  and  these  spoke  elo- 
quently. But,  just  as  her  benefactors  were  moving  on,  a 
man  came  along  the  road  with  something  dangling  from 
!iis  hands.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the  girl  on  perceiving  that 
he  had  found  her  lost  property  ;  and,  when  he  had  come  up 
and  delivered  the  things  to  her,  she  advanced  with  the 
money  to  Coquette. 

"  Thank  ye,  mem,"  said  she. 

"  Won't  you  keep  the  money,  and  buy  something  for  your 
little  brothers  and  sisters,  if  you  have  any  ?  " 

This  offer  was  declined,  with  just  an  inkling  of  pride  in 
the  girl's  manner  ;  and  the  next  instant  she  was  hurrying  to 
Saltcoats  as  fast  as  her  bare  feet  could  cany  her. 

Now,  this  incident  had  delayed  the  two  runaways  much 
longer  than  they  suspected;  and,  when  they  got  down  to 
Saltcoats,  they  were  much  later  than  they  dreamed.  Indeed, 
they  never  looked  at  the  town  clock  in  passing,  so  satisfied 
Were  they  that  they  had  plenty  of  time. 

"  This  is  not  like  St.  Nazaire,"  said  Coquette,  decidedly. 

"  You  have  not  seen  it  yet,"  returned  the  Wnaup,  just  as 
confidently. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Coquette  and  he  stood  upon  the 
shore.  The  long  bay  of  Saltcoats,  sweeping  round  from  the 
far  promontory  of  Troon,  fronted  a  heaving,  tumbling  mass 
of  white-crested  waves,  that  came  rolling  onward  from  under 
a  great  leaden  breadth  of  sky  ;  and,  as  they  gazed  out  on 
this  wintry-looking  sea,  they  had  on  their  right  hand  the 
grey  stone  wall  of  the  town,  which  projected  into  the  water, 
with  here  and  there  a  crumbling  old  house  peeping  over  it. 
The  church  spire  rose  above  the  tallest  of  the  houses,  and 
aided  the  perspective — so  much  so  that  it  was  almost 
possible  to  imagine  that  the  site  of  the  building  had  been 
chosen  by  one  who  had  studied  the  picturesque  opportunities 
of  the  place. 

"  It  is  St.  Nazaire  in  winter !  "  cried  Coquette,  her  voice 
half  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  waves. 

E  2 


52  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  triumphantly  shouted  the  "VVhaup, 
who  had  never  seen  St.  Nazaire,  but  only  knew  that,  on  this 
side,  Saltcoats  looked  singularly  like  a  little  French  walled 
town.     "  Now  will  you  come  and  see  the  harbour  ?  " 

But  she  would  not  leave.  She  stood  there,  with  her  shawl 
fluttering  in  the  fierce  wind,  and  with  her  slight  form  scarcely 
able  to  withstand  the  force  of  the  hurricane,  looking  out  on 
the  rushing  white  crests  of  the  waves,  on  the  black  line  of  the 
town  perched  above  the  rocks,  and  on  the  lowering  western 
sky,  which  seemed  to  be  slowly  advancing  with  its  gloom. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life  near  them — not  even  a  sailor  on 
the  watch,  nor  a  ship  running  before  the  gale — nothing  but 
the  long  and  level  shore,  and  the  great  wild  mass  of  waves, 
which  had  a  voice  like  thunder  far  out  beyond  the  mere 
dashing  on  the  beach. 

"  Imagine  what  it  would  be,"  she  said,  "  to  have  one  you 
loved  out  in  a  fearful  storm,  and  for  you  to  come  down  here 
at  night  to  hear  the  savage  message  that  the  waves  bring.  It 
would  make  me  mad.  You  will  not  go  to  sea  ?  "  she  added 
suddenly,  turning  to  him  with  an  urgent  pleading  in  her  face 
and  her  voice. 

"No — of  course  not,"  he  said,  looking  strangely  at 
her. 

"Was  it  possible,  then,  that  this  vague  determination  of  his 
had  lingered  in  her  mind  as  a  sort  of  threat  ?  Did  she  care 
to  have  him  remain  near  her  ? 

"  Come,"  said  he, "  we  must  hurry,  if  you  mean  to  look  at  the 
harbour  and  the  old  ruins  at  the  point.  Besides,  I  want  you 
to  rest  for  a  minute  or  two  at  an  inn  here,  and  you  shall  see 
whether  there  is  no  vin  ordinaire  in  the  country  except 
at  Earlshope." 

"  Earlshope — Earlshope,"  she  said.  "  Why  do  you  talk 
always  of  Earlshope  ?  " 

The  Whaup  would  not  answer,  but  led  her  back  through 
the  town,  and  stopped  on  their  way  to  the  harbour  at  the 
Saracen's  Head.  Here  Coquette  had  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of 
claret ;  and  was  further  delighted  to  perceive  that  the  window 
of  the  room  they  were  in  looked  out  upon  a  very  French- 
looking  courtyard  of  stone,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall  which 
appeared  to  front  the  sea. 

"  It  is  St.  Nazaire  in  winter,"  she  repeated  ;  "  the  grey 


SALTCOATS.  53 

stones,  the  windy  sea,  the  chill  air.      Yet  how  dark  it 
In  comes  ! " 

Indeed,  when  they  had  resumed  their  journey,  and  gone 
out  to  the  point  heyond  the  little  harbour,  the  gale  had 
waxed  much  more  fierce.  They  passed  through  the  ruins  of 
what  seemed  an  ancient  fortress  on  to  the  rocks,  and  found 
themselves  alone  in  front  of  the  sea,  which  had  now  become 
of  a  lurid  green.  It  was,  in  fact,  much  lighter  in  colour  than 
the  sombre  sky  above  ;  and  the  grey-green  waves,  tumbling 
in  white,  could  be  seen  for  an  immense  distance  under  this 
black  canopy  of  cloud.  The  wind  whistled  around  them, 
and  dashed  the  spray  into  their  blinded  eyes.  The  wild- 
ness  of  the  scene — the  roaring  of  wind  and  sea  around — 
produced  a  strange  excitement  in  the  girl ;  and  while  'she 
clung  to  the  "VVhaup's  arm  to  steady  herself  on  the  rocks,  she 
laughed  aloud  in  defiance  of  the  storm.  At  this  moment  a 
glare  of  steel-blue  light  Hashed  through  the  driving  gloom 
in  front  of  them  ;  and  almost  simultaneously  there  was  a 
rattle  of  thunder  overhead,  which  reverberated  far  and  long 
among  the  Arnui  hills.  Then  came  the  rain  ;  and  they  could 
hear  the  hissing  of  it  on  the  sea  before  it  reached  them. 

"  Shall  we  make  for  the  town  ? "  cried  the  Whaup, 
"  or  shelter  ourselves  in  the  ruins  ?  " 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  another  wild  glare  burst 
before  their  eyes,  and  made  them  stagger  back  ;  while  the 
rattle  of  the  thunder  seemed  all  around  their  ears. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  said  Coquette,  for  her  companion  did 
not  speak. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  Whaup  ;  "  but  my  arm  tingles  up 
to  the  elbow,  and  I  can  scarcely  move  it.  This  is  close  work. 
We  must  hide  in  the  ruins,  or  you  will  be  wet  through." 

They  went  inside  the  old  building  ;  and  crept  down  and  sat 
mute  and  expectant  under  Coquette's  outstretched  plaid.  All 
around  them  was  the  roaring  of  the  waves,  with  the  howling 
of  the  gusts  of  wind  and  rain  ;  and  ever  and  anon  the  rough 
stone  walls  before  them  would  be  lit  up  by  a  Hash  of  blue 
lightning)  which  stunned  their  eyes  for  several  seconds. 

"  This  is  a  punishment  that  we  ran  away/1  said  Coquet 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  This  storm  will  wreck 
many  a  boat ;  and  it  would  be  rather  hard  if  a  lot  of  sailors 
should  be  drowned  merely  to  give  us  a  drouking," 


54  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  wetting,  such  as  we  are  likely  to  get.  Indeed,  I  don't 
think  there  is  much  use  in  stopping  here  ;  for  it  will  soon  be 
so  dark  that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  get  along  the  rocks  to 
the  shore." 

This  consideration  made  them  rise  and  leave  at  once  ;  and 
sure  enough  it  had  grown  very  dark  within  the  past  half- 
hour.  Night  was  rapidly  approaching  as  they  made  their 
way  through  Saltcoats  to  gain  the  road  to  Airlie.  Nor  did 
the  storm  abate  one  jot  of  its  fury  ;  and  long  before  they 
had  begun  to  ascend  towards  the  moorland  country,  the 
Whaup  was  as  wet  as  though  he  had  been  lying  in  a  river. 
Coquette's  thick  plaid  saved  her  somewhat. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  she  said.  "  They  will  be  very 
angry,  and  this  time  they  have  reason." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  whether  they  were  angry  or  not,"  said 
the  Whaup,  "  if  only  you  were  at  home  and  in  dry  clothes." 

"  But  you  are  wetter  than  I  am." 
.    "  But  I  don't  care,"  said  the  Whaup,  although  his  teeth 
were  chattering  in  his  head. 

So  they  struggled  on,  in  the  darkness,  and  wind,  and 
driving  rain,  until  it  seemed  to  Coquette  that  the  way  under 
foot  was  strangely  spongy  and  wet.  She  said  nothing, 
however,  until  the  Whaup  exclaimed,  in  a  serious  voice — 

"  We  are  off  the  road,  and  on  the  moor  somewhere." 

Such  was  the  fact.  They  had  got  up  to  the  high  land 
only  to  find  themselves  lost  in  a  morass,  with  no  means  of 
securing  the  slightest  guidance.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  blunder  on  helplessly  through  the  dark,  trusting  to 
find  some  indication  of  their  whereabouts.  At  last  they 
came  to  an  enclosure  and  a  footpath  ;  and  as  they  followed 
this,  hoping  to  reach  the  Airlie  road,  they  came  upon  a 
small  house,  which  had  a  light  in  its  windows. 

"  It  is  Earlshope  Lodge,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  And  there 
are  the  gates." 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  in  and  beg  for  some  shelter,"  said  Coquette, 
whose  courage  had  forsaken  her  the  moment  she  found  they 
had  lost  their  way. 

"  You  may,"  said  a  voice  from  the  mass  of  wet  garments 
beside  her,  "  you  may  go  in,  and  get  dry  clothes,  if  you  like  ; 
but  I  will  not." 


COQUETTE'S  PROMISE.  55 


CHAPTER  IX 

coquette's  promise. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Cassilis,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  as  he 
met  Coquette  coming  over  the  moorland  road.  "  I  hear  you 
had  an  adventure  last  night.  But  why  did  not  you  go  into 
the  lodge  and  get  dried  ? 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Coquette — "  why,  because  my  cousin  Tom 
and  I  were  as  wet  as  we  could  be,  and  it  was  better  to  go  on 
straight  to  the  Manse  without  waiting.  Have  you  seen  him 
this  morning  ?  " 

"  Your  cousin  ?    No." 

"  I  am  looking  for  him.  I  think  he  believes  he  is  in  dis- 
grace at  the  Manse,  and  has  gone  off  for  some  wild  mischief. 
He  has  taken  all  his  brothers  with  him  ;  and  I  did  hear  him 
laughing  and  singing  as  he  always  does  when  he — how  do 
you  call  it  ? — when  he  breaks  out." 

"  Let  me  help  you  to  look  for  him,"  said  Eurlshope. 
u  I  am  sure  he  ought  to  be  proud  of  your  solicitude,  if  any- 
thing is  wanted  to  make  him  happier  than  he  is.  How 
thoroughly  that  handsome  lad  seems  to  enjoy  the  mere 
routine  of  living  ! " 

"You  talk  as  if  you  were  an  old  man,"  said  Coquette, 
with  one  of  her  bright  laughs.  "Do  not  you  enjoy 
living  ?" 

"  Enjoy  it  ?  No.  If  the  days  pass  easily,  without  much 
bother,  1  am  contented  ;  but  happiness  docs  not  visit  a  man 
who  looks  upon  himself  as  a  failure  at  twenty-seven." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  puzzled 
air. 

"  You  would  provoke  me  into  talking  about  myself,  as  if  I 
were  a  hypochondriac.  Yet  I  have  no  story — nothing  to 
amuse  you  with." 

"Oh,  I  do  wish  you  to  tell  me  all  about  yourself,"  said 
Coquette,  with  a  gracious  interest.  "  Why  you  remain  by 
yourself  in  this  place  ?  Why  you  have  no  companions — no 
occupation  ?    You  are  mysterious." 

"  I  am  not  even  that/'  he  said,  with  a  smile.     "  I  have 


56  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

not  even  a  mystery.  Yet  I  will  tell  you  all  about  myself,  if 
you  care  to  hear,  as  we  go  along.  Stop  me  when  I  tire 
you." 

So  her  companion  began  and  told  her  all  about  himself 
and  his  friends,  his  college  life,  his  relations,  his  acquaint- 
ances, his  circumstances — a  rather  lengthy  narrative,  which 
need  not  be  repeated  here.  Coquette  learned  a  great  deal 
during  that  time,  however,  and  saw  for  the  first  time  Lord 
Earlshope  in  a  true  light.  He  was  no  longer  to  her  a  care- 
less and  light-hearted  young  man,  who  had  made  her 
acquaintance  out  of  indolent  curiosity,  and  seemed  inclined 
to  flirt  with  her  for  mere  amusement.  He  was,  in  his  own 
words,  a  failure  at  twenty-seven — a  man  whose  extremely 
morbid  disposition  had  set  to  work  years  ago  to  eat  into  his 
life.  He  had  had  his  aspirations  and  ambitions  ;  and  had 
at  length  convinced  himself  that  he  had  not  been  granted 
the  intellect  to  accomplish  any  of  his  dreams.  What 
remained  to  him  ? 

"  I  was  not  fit  to  do  anything,"  he  said,  "  with  those 
political,  social,  and  other  instruments  that  are  meant  to 
secure  the  happiness  of  multitudes.  All  I  could  do  was 
to  try  to  secure  my  own  happiness,  and  help  the  philanthro- 
pists by  a  single  unit." 

"  Have  you  done  that  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"  No,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  careless  shrug,  "  I  think  I  have 
failed  in  that,  too.  All  my  life  I  have  been  cutting  open 
my  bellows  to  see  where  the  wind  came  from  ;  and  if  you 
were  to  go  over  Earlshope,  you  would  discover  the  remains 
of  twenty  different  pursuits  that  I  have  attempted  and 
thrown  aside.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Cassilis,  that  I  have 
even  ceased  to  take  any  interest  in  the  problem  of  myself — 
in  the  spectacle  of  a  man  physically  as  strong  as  most  men, 
and  mentally  so  vacillating  that  he  has  never  been  able  to 
hold  an  opinion  or  get  up  a  prejudice  to  swear  by.  Even 
the  dullest  men  have  convictions  about  politics  ;  but  I  am  a 
Tory  in  sympathy  and  a  Eadical  in  theory,  so  that  I  am  at 
war  with  myself  on  pretty  nearly  every  point.  Sometimes 
I  have  fancied  that  there  are  a  good  many  men  in  this 
country  more  or  less  in  my  condition  ;  and  then  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  an  invasion  of  England  would  be  a  good 
thing  " 


COQUETTE'S  PROMISE.  57 

"All,  you  would  have  something  to  believe  in  then — 
something  to  fight  for  !  "  said  Coquette. 

"Perhaps.  Yet  I  don't  know.  If  the  invaders  should 
happen  to  have  better  educational  institutions  than  England 
— as  is  very  likely — oughtn't  I  to  fight  on  their  side,  and 
wish  them  to  be  successful,  and  give  us  a  lesson  ?  England, 
you  know,  owes  everything  to  successive  invasions  ;  for  the 
proper  test  of  the  invader's  political  institutions  was  whether 
they  could  hold  their  own  in  the  country  after  he  had 
planted  his  foot  there.  But  I  have  really  to  leg  your 
pardon.  I  must  not  teach  you  the  trick  of  following  every- 
thing to  the  vanishing  point.  You  have  the  greatest  of 
earthly  blessings ;  you  enjoy  life  without  asking  yourself 
why." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Coquette,  "  how  I  can 
enjoy  more  than  you.  Is  it  not  pleasant  to  come  out  in  the 
sunshine  like  this,  after  the  night's  rain,  and  see  the  clear 
sky,  and  smell  the  sweet  air  ?    You  enjoy  that " 

"I  cannot  help  wondering  what  appetite  it  will  give 
me." 

Coquette  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  her  hands. 

"  At  least  you  do  enjoy  speaking  with  me  here  on  this 
pleasant  morning  ?  " 

"  The  more  we  talk,"  he  said,  "  the  more  I  am  puzzled  by 
the  mystery  of  the  difference  between  you  and  me.  Why, 
the  passing  of  a  bright-coloured  butterfly  is  an  intense 
pleasure  to  you  !  I  have  seen  you  look  up  to  a  gleam  of 
blue  sky,  and  clasp  your  hands,  and  laugh  with  delight. 
Evcrv  scent  of  a  flower,  every  pleasant  sound,  every  breath 
of  sunshine  and  air,  is  a  new  joy  to  you  ;  and  you  are  quite 
satisfied  with  merely  being  alive.  Of  course,  it  is  an 
advantage  to  be  alive  ;  but  there  are  few  who  make  so  much 
of  it  as  yon  do." 

"You  think  too  much  about  it,"  said  Coquette;  "when 
you  marry  some  day,  you  will  have  more  practical  things  to 
think  of,  and  you  will  be  happier." 

At  the  mention  of  the  word  marriage  a  quick  look  of 
annoyance  Beamed  to  pass  across  his  face;  but  she  did  not 
notice  it,  and  he  replied  lightly, 

"  Marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  Miss  Cassilis  ;  and  I  am 
afraid  they  won't  do  much  for  me  there." 


58  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Ah  !  do  not  you  believe  in  heaven  ?  "  she  said,  and  the 
brown  eyes  were  turned  anxiously  to  his  face. 

"  Do  not  let  us  talk  about  that,"  said  he,  indifferently  ; 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  alienate  from  me  the  only  companion  I 
have  ever  found  in  this  place.  Yet  I  do  not  disbelieve  in 
what  you  believe,  I  know.  What  were  you  saying  about 
marriage  ?  "  he  added,  with  an  apparent  effort ;  "  do  you 
believe  that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Coquette  ;  "  the  people  say  that 
sometimes." 

"I  was  only  thinking,"  remarked  Lord  Earlshope,  with 
an  apparently  careless  laugh,  "  that  if  the  angels  employ 
their  leisure  in  making  marriages,  they  sometimes  turn 
out  a  very  inferior  article.     Don't  you  think  so  ? " 

Coquette  was  not  a  very  observant  young  person — she 
was  much  too  occupied  with  her  own  round  of  innocent 
little  enjoyments  ;  but  it  did  strike  her  that  her  companion 
spoke  with  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  tone.  However, 
they  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further,  for,  much  to  their 
surprise,  they  suddenly  stumbled  upon  the  Whaup  and  his 
brothers. 

The  boys  were  at  a  small  bridge  crossing  the  stream  that 
ran  down  from  Airlie  moor  ;  and  they  were  so  intent  upon 
their  own  pursuits  that  they  took  no  notice  of  the  approach 
of  Coquette  and  her  companion.  Lord  Earlshope,  indeed, 
at  once  motioned  to  Coquette  to  preserve  silence  ;  and, 
aided  by  a  line  of  small  alder  and  hazel  bushes  which  grew 
on  the  banks  of  the  rivulet,  they  drew  quite  near  to  the 
Minister's  sons  without  being  perceived. 

Coquette  was  right  :  the  Whaup  had  "broken  out." 
Feeling  assured  that  he  would  be  held  responsible  for  all 
the  crimes  of  yesterday — the  affair  of  the  crucifix,  the 
clandestine  excursion  to  Saltcoats,  and  the  mishaps  that 
accrued  therefrom — the  Whaup  had  reflected  that  it  was  as 
well  to  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb.  When  Coquette 
and  her  companion  came  in  sight  of  him,  he  was  fulfilling 
the  measure  of  his  iniquities. 

What  had  moved  him  to  vent  his  malignity  on  his 
younger  brother  Wattie  must  remain  a  mystery — unless  it 
was  that  Wattie  was  the  "best  boy"  of  the  Manse,  and, 
further,  that  he  had  shown  an  enmity  to  Coquette  ;  but  at 


COQUETTE'S  PROMISE.  59 

this  moment  Wattie  was  depending  from  the  small  bridge, 
his  head  a  short  distance  from  the  water,  his  feet  held 
close  to  the  parapet  by  the  muscular  arms  of  the  Whaup, 
while  one  of  the  other  boys  had  been  made  an  accomplice  to 
the  extent  of  holding  on  to  Wattle's  trousers. 

"  Noo,  Wattie,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  ye  maun  say  a  sweer 
before  ye  get  up.  I'm  no  jokin',  and  unless  ye  be  quick, 
yell  be  in  the  water." 

But  would  Wattie,  the  paragon  of  scholars,  the  exemplar 
to  his  brothers,  imperil  his  soul  by  uttering  a  "  bad  word  ?  " 
Surely  not !  Wattie  was  resolute.  He  knew  what  punish- 
ment was  held  in  reserve  for  swearers ;  and  preferred  the 
colder  element. 

"  Wattie,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  say  a  sweer,  or  ye'll  gang 
into  the  burn,  as  sure  as  daith  ! " 

X 1 » ;  Wattie  would  rather  be  a  martyr.  Whereupon — the 
bridge  being  a  very  low  one — the  Whaup  and  his  brothel's 
dipped  Wattie  a  few  inches,  so  that  the  ripples  touched  his 
head.  Wattie  set  up  a  fearful  howl  ;  and  his  brothers 
raised  him  to  his  former  position. 

"Now,  will  ye  say  it  ?  " 

"  Deevil !  "  cried  Wattie.  "  Let  me  up  ;  I  hae  said  a 
sweer." 

The  other  brothers  raised  a  demoniac  shout  of  triumph 
over  this  apostacy  ;  and  the  Whaup's  roars  of  laughter  had 
nearly  the  effect  of  precipitating  Wattie  into  the  stream  in 
downright  earnest.  But  this  backsliding  on  the  part  of 
their  pious  brother  did  not  seem  to  the  tempters  sufficiently 
serious. 

"Ye  matin  say  a  worse  sweer,  Wattie.  ' Dce'iT  is  no 
bad  enough." 

"  I'll  droon  first ! "  said  Wattie,  whimpering  in  his 
distress,  "and  then  ye'll  get  your  paiks,  I'm  thinking." 

Down  went  Wattie's  head  into  the  burn  again  ;  and  this 
time  he  was  raised  with  his  mouth  sputtering  out  the 
contents  it  had  received. 

"  I'll  say  what  ye  like — I'll  say  what  ye  like  !  D — n ;  is 
that  bad  enough  ?  " 

With  another  unholy  shout  of  derision,  Wattie  was  raised 
and  set  on  the  bridge. 

"  Noo,"  said  the  Whaup,  standing  over  him,  "  let  me  tell 


60  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

you  this,  my  man.  The  next  time  ye  gang  to  my 
faither,  and  tell  a  story  about  any  one  o'  us,  or  the  next 
time  ye  say  a  word  against  the  French  lassie,  as  ye  ca'  her, 
do  ye  ken  what  I'll  do  ?  I'll  take  ye  back  to  my  faither  by 
the  lug,  and  I'll  tell  him  ye  were  swearin'  like  a  trooper 
down  by  the  burn  ;  and  every  one  o'  us  will  testify  against 
ye.  Ma  certes,  my  man,  I'm  thinking  it  will  be  your  turn 
to  consider  paiks.  My  faither  has  a  bonnie  switch,  Wattie 
— a  braw  switch,  Wattie  ;  and  what  think  ye  he'll  do  to  his 
well-behaved  son  that  gangs  about  the  countryside  swearin' 
just  like  a  Kilmarnock  carter  ?  " 

Coquette  held  out  her  hand  to  her  companion. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  "  and  I  do  thank  you  for  bringing 
me  here." 

Lord  Earlshope  perceived  that  he  was  dismissed,  but 
did  not  know  why.  He  was  not  aware  that  Coquette 
was  trembling  lest  she  should  be  seen  in  his  forbidden 
company. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  took  her 
hand. 

"When  it  is  fine  I  do  always  go  out  for  a  walk  after 
breakfast,"  she  said  lightly ;  and  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   SCHOOLMASTER. 

Coquette  would  have  given  much  to  have  recalled  these 
words.  She  felt  that  they  implied  a  promise  ;  and  that  if 
she  kept  her  promise  she  would  find  herself  hampered  by  the 
weight  of  a  secret.  Now,  the  girl  abhorred  every  sort  of 
restraint  that  interfered  with  the  natural  cheerfulness  and 
lightness  of  her  heart  ;  and  no  sooner  had  Lord  Earlshope 
disappeared,  than  she  began  to  dread  this  thing  that  she  had 
done.  Why  had  he  asked  her  to  meet  him  ?  Why  did  not 
he  come  to  the  Manse  ?  And  while  she  stood  irresolute, 
wondering  how  she  could  free  herself  from  the  chains  that 
seemed  likely  to  bind  her,  the  Whaup  and  his  brother  made 
a  dash  at  the  place  of  her  concealment. 

"  Hillo ! "  cried  her  cousin  Tom,  "  how  did  you  come 
here  ?  '* 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  61 

"I  came  in  search  of  you,"  she  said,  glancing 
nervously  round  to  see  that  Lord  Earlshope  was  out  of 
Bight, 

And  you  were  spying  on  us,  were  you  ? "  said  the 
Whaup,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why  do  you  ill-treat  your  brother  so  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It  is  no  ill-treatment,"  he  said,  in  his  best  English. 
"  It  is  the  execution  o'  a  sentence  passed  on  him  last  night 
by  the  Avhole  of  us.  We  are  the  Vehmgericht  of  this  neigh- 
bourhood, Miss  Coquette,  and  when  any  one  injures  you 
appeal  to  us.  You  have  only  to  name  him  and  we  ham- 
string his  cattle,  set  fire  to  his  barns,  and  seize  himself  and 
poll  out  his  teeth.     Eh,  boys  ?  " 

There  was  a  general  chorus  of  assent. 

"  But  you  must  not  call  me  by  that  name  any  more,"  said 
the  young  lady,  with  a  blush. 

"  Not  Coquette  any  more  ?  I  shall  withdraw  the  name 
when  I  see  you  don't  deserve  it,"  said  the  Whaup,  with 
cool  insolence.     It  was  clear  he  had  "  broken  out." 

The  Whaup  now  dismissed  his  brothers,  and  proceeded  to 
escort  Coquette  back  across  the  moor.  He  explained,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  not  think  it  advisable  for  him  to  go  into 
the  Manse  just  then. 

k  Why  ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  I  told  Mr.  Cassilis  all  about  it 
— he  does  not  think  you  to  blame." 

"  That  means,"  said  her  companion,  "  that  you  took  the 
blame  on  yourself.     But  you  only  know  the  half." 

With  which  the  Whaup  broke  into  another  fit  of  laughter. 
When  he  had  recovered,  he  told  her  the  story.  That  morning, 
on  issuing  out,  he  heard  Andrew  and  Leezibeth  talking 
about  his  cousin  in  a  not  very  complimentary  fashion,  and 
at  once  determined  on  revenge.  There  was  an  outhouse  in 
which  were  kept  garden  utensils,  coals,  and  various  other 
things,  and  this  outhouse  had  a  door  which  was  occasionally 
obstinate.  Now  the  Whaup  seeing  Andrew  at  the  far  end 
of  the  garden,  informed  him  that  Mr.  Cassilis  wanted  a 
spade  brought  to  him  ;  and  Andrew  muttered  "by  and  by." 
Meanwhile,  the  Whaup  made  his  way  to  the  outhouse, 
opened  the  door,  and  shut  himself  in.  Two  or  three  minutes 
afterwards,  Andrew  came  and  lifted  the  latch.  The  door 
would  not  open.     He  shoved  and  shook  ;  it  would  not  open 


62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

— for  the  simple  reason  that  the  Whaup,  who  could  see 
through  a  chink,  had  his  foot  against  it.  At  last,  Andrew, 
obviously  very  angry,  retired  a  few  yards — made  a  race — 
and  threw  the  whole  of  his  weight  upon  the  door.  There 
was  a  crash,  a  stumble,  a  cry,  and  then  a  great  pealing 
shriek  of  merriment  as  the  Whaup  jumped  out  of  the  place, 
leaving  Andrew  lying  among  a  heap  of  tumbled  pitchforks 
and  hand-barrows.  The  door  had  yielded  so  easily  that 
Andrew  had  precipitated  himself  upon  the  floor  of  the  out- 
house, and  now  lay  groaning. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  said,"  remarked  the  Whaup,  as  he 
recounted  the  adventure  with  great  glee,  "  but  it  didna 
sound  to  me  like  the  Psalms  of  David." 

"  Tom,"  said  his  cousin,  "  you  are  a  wicked  boy.  Why 
do  you  not  give  up  these  school  jokes  ?  You  are  tall  and 
strong  enough  to  be  a  man  :  why  you  behave  as  if  you  were 
at  school  ?  " 

The  Whaup  was  not  in  a  repentant  mood. 

"  I'm  only  half  and  between,"  said  he.  "  I  am  a  man 
some  days — a  boy  others.  You  can't  expect  me  to  change 
all  at  once,  Miss  Coquette." 

"  You  must  net  call  me  that  name,"  said  she.  "  It  is  not 
fair — I  am  not  Coquette." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  he.  "  When  did  you  see  Lord  Earls- 
hope  ? " 

"  This  morning,"  said  she,  with  a  pout. 

The  Whaup  was  instantly  sobered. 

"Was  Earlshope  at  the  Manse  ?  "  he  asked,  coldly. 

Now  was  the  time  for  Coquette  to  make  a  full  confession. 
Indeed,  she  had  admitted  having  seen  Lord  Earlshope  that 
morning  for  the  very  purpose  of  telling  the  Whaup  all  about 
her  half-promise,  and  so  relieving  her  mind  from  its  burden 
of  secresy.  But  as  she  looked  at  him,  she  saw  that  his  face 
had  grown  implacable.  She  had  not  the  courage  to  tell 
him.     She  said,  in  a  timid  way — 

"  He  met  me  as  I  was  coming  to  look  for  you,  and  walked 
a  bit  of  the  way  with  me." 

"  How  far  ?  " 

Coquette  drew  herself  up  somewhat. 

"  You  have  not  the  right  to  ask  me  such  questions." 

"  I  understand  now,"  said  the  Whaup,  calmly,  "  how  you 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  63 

looked  caught  when  I  found  you  at  the  bushes,  and  why  you 
turned  to  look  over  the  mcor.  I  daresay  he  had  come  there 
with  you,  and  sneaked  away " 

"  Sneaked  ! — sneaked  !  "  said  Coquette,  warmly  (although 
she  only  guessed  at  the  meaning  of  the  word),  "  I  do  not 
know  what  it  is  ;  but  Lord  Earlshope  is  not  afraid  to  be 
seen.  Why  should  he  be  ?  What  is  wrong  in  his  going 
with  me  there  ?  And  you  think  I  do  not  know  what  is  right 
for  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  an  air  of  resignatiou. 
"  I  give  you  up.     I  see  you  are  just  like  other  women." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Coquette,  angrily,  though 
she  kept  her  eyes  down. 

"  Nothing  of  any  importance,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a 
forced  carelessness.  "  You  profess  you  were  doing  what  was 
right  and  fitting  ;  but  you  have  not  explained  why  you 
should  have  sent  Earlshope  away — after  all,  he  is  a  man, 
and  would  not  have  sneaked  off  except  at  your  bidding — 
or  why  you  carefully  hid  from  the  whole  of  us  that  you  had 
just  left  him.  What  was  the  reason  of  all  that  concealment 
and  hypocrisy  ? "  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  indignation. 
"  I  know  you  were  doing  no  wrong — I  have  no  fear  in  that 
way  for  one  that  bears  the  name  of  Cassilis.  But  why 
make  the  pretence  of  having  done  wrong  ?  Why  try  to 
hide  it  ?  Isn't  that  very  woman-like  ? — isn't  that  very 
deceitful  ? — and  I  thought  you  were  something  different 
from  other  women." 

She  was  nearly  confessing  the  truth  to  him — that  she  had 
resorted  to  this  unfortunate  bit  of  concealment  merely 
because  she  was  afraid  of  him.  But  she  knew  that  if  she 
made  this  admission  she  would  probably  break  down  ;  and, 
as  she  would  not  show  any  such  symptom  of  weakness,  she 
merely  replied  to  him,  with  an  air  of  proud  indifference — 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  if  I  am  a  woman." 

Thereafter,  dead  silence.  The  two  walked  across  the 
moor,  some  little  distance  apart,  without  uttering  a  word. 
When  they  reached  the  Manse,  Coquette  went  to  her  own 
room  and  shut  herself  up,  feeling  very  stern,  determined, 
and  wretched. 

The  Whaup,  on  the  other  hand,  rendered  desperate,  re- 
solved to  deliver  himself  up  into  the  hands  of  justice.      He 


64  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

walked  into  his  father's  study  in  order  to  impeach  himself 
and  demand  punishment  (the  Whaup  felt  that  banishment 
from  Airlie  would  almost  have  been  welcome  then),  but  Mr. 
Cassilis  was  outside  in  the  garden.  When  the  Whaup  at 
length  perceived  his  father  aud  approached  him,  he  found 
that  the  Schoolmaster  was  seeking  an  audience. 

The  Schoolmaster  was  a  short,  stout,  red-haired  man,  with 
horn-rimmed  spectacles.  He  had  a  bushy  red  beard,  and 
held  his  head  well  drawn  back  ;  so  that,  but  for  his  defective 
stature,  he  would  have  looked  a  person  of  importance.  How- 
ever, Nature,  not  generous  as  regards  inches,  had  been  kinder 
to  him  in  his  voice,  which  was  deep  aud  sonorous  ;  and  it 
was  the  especial  pride  of  Mr.  iEneas  Gillespie — Schoolmaster, 
Parish  Clerk,  and  Grand  Aumoner  of  Airlie — that  he  spoke 
a  species  of  idiomatic  English  superior  to  the  talk  of  the 
common  people  his  neighbours.  It  was  only  on  rare 
occasions  that  he  forgot  himself,  and  relapsed  into  the 
familiar  and  expressive  phraseology  of  the  district. 

"  It  is  a  fine — I  might  even  say  a  beautiful — morning," 
he  observed  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  as  he  came  up. 

"  A  beautiful  morning,  indeed,"  said  the  Minister. 

At  this  moment  the  Whaup  made  his  appearance,  and  was 
at  once  saluted  by  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Come  along,  young  man,"  he  said,  in  his  stately  tones, 
"  we  may  ask  your  aid,  or,  as  I  may  say,  your  assistance,  in 
this  matter.  Mr.  Cassilis,  may  I  inquire  of  you  what  is 
your  opinion  of  the  present  Lord  Earjshope — by  which,  I 
mean,  do  you  think  him  a  fit  companion  for  one  o'  your 
household  ?  " 

The  Schoolmaster  planted  himself  before  the  Minister,  and 
fixed  the  glare  of  his  horn-rimmed  spectac^s  on  him. 

"The  question,  is  a  wide  one,  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  smile.  "  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to  set 
ourselves  up  in  judgment  upon  our  neighbours  who  may 
have  been  brought  up  under  different  lights  from  ours,  and 
may  surprise  us  at  times,  I  admit,  by  their  conduct.  Nor 
would  it  be  fitting  for  them  who  try  to  walk  according  to  the 
Word  to  cut  themselves  off  from  all  communication  with 
people  who  are  less  particular — for  these  might  benefit  by 
example  and  the  kindly  teaching  of  acquaintanceship." 

Mr.  Gillespie  shook  his  head. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  65 

"  I  would  nob  interfere  with  your  section  of  the  public 
duties  of  this  parish,"  observed  the  Schoolmaster.  "  You  are 
the  arbiter  of  morals  and  conduct,  while  I  do  my  humble 
best — my  endeavour,  as  I  may  say — with  the  education  of 
our  joint  charge.  But  if  ye  will  let  me  remark,  sir,  that  we 
may  be  too  easy  with  our  judgment,  and  encourage  ungodli- 
ness by  associating  therewith.  For  I  would  ask  ye,  Mr. 
Cassilis,  if  we  are  to  draw  no  line  between  the  good  and  the 
bad,  what  is  the  good — what  is  the  good,  as  I  may  say — of 
being  good  ? " 

The  Whaup  grew  very  red  in  the  face,  and  "  snirted  "  with 
laughter. 

"There  are,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  continued  the  Schoolmaster, 
without  pausing  for  an  answer,  "there  are  those  who  err 
knowingly,  and  should  not  be  encouraged ;  there  are  those 
who  err  in  ignorance,  and  should  be  informed.  Of  these 
last,  by  way  of  example,  is  Mrs.  Drumsynie,  the  wife  of  a 
carter  in  Dairy,  who  was  taken  home  on  Tuesday  last  with  a 
broken  leg.  Now,  this  woman  had  so  far  misconstrued  the 
workings  of  Providence,  as  I  may  say,  that  when  her  husband 
was  brought  in  to  her  on  a  shutter,  she  exclaimed, '  I  thank 
the  Lord  we  will  get  something  out  o'  the  Society  at  last ' — 
meaning  the  Benefit  Society,  of  which  I  am  the  secretary. 
This  woman,  as  I  judge,  was  not  to  be  taken  as  an  irreverent 
or  wicked  woman,  but  as  one  suffering  from — or  labouring 
under,  as  I  may  say — a  misapprehension." 

"  I  perceive,  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  gravely, 
"  but  ye  were  observing ?  " 

"  I  am  coming  to  the  point,  sir.  And  I  think  I  cannot  do 
better  than  premise  with  a  simple  statement  of  fact.  At  this 
moment,  or  instant,  as  I  may  say,  your  niece  is  out  walking 
alone  with  Lord  Earlshope." 

The  Whaup's  face  flushed  with  something  else  than 
laughter  this  time — when  he  saw  the  object  of  the  School- 
master's visit. 

"  Ye  may  premise  what  ye  like,"  said  the  lad,  indignantly, 
"  but  that's  a  doggont  lee  !  " 

"  Thomas  !  "  cried  the  Minister,  "  ye  shall  answer  for  this 
afterward." 

But  the  Whaup  was  determined  to  have  it  out  with  his 
enemy. 

F 


66  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  At  this  moment,  or  instant,  as  I  may  say,"  he  remarked 
(and  the  Schoolmaster  dared  scarcely  believe  he  was  listening 
to  such  insolence  from  a  boy  whom  he  had  many  a  time 
thrashed),  "  Mr.  Cassilis's  niece  is  in  this  house,  and  not  with 
Lord  Earlshope  at  all.  And  suppose  she  had  been,  what 
then  ?  Is  it  a  crime  for  a  girl  even  to  speak  to  him  if  she 
meets  him  ?  Is  it  worse  than  for  an  old  man  to  come  spying 
and  telling  tales  ?  And  if  an  honest  woman  must  not  walk 
with  Earlshope,  would  an  honest  man  sit  down  at  his  table  ? 
And  who  was  it,  Mr.  Gillespie,  proposed  Lord  Earlshope's 
health  at  the  last  tenantry  dinner  ?  " 

This  was  a  deadly  thrust ;  and,  having  delivered  it,  the 
Whaup  walked  off.  He  was  angry  that  he  had  been  goaded 
into  defending  Lord  Earlshope  ;  but  his  zeal  in  the  cause  of 
Coquette  had  carried  him  beyond  such  considerations.  He 
looked  up  at  her  window  rather  sadly  as  he  passed. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  be  sent  to  Glasgow  for  this,"  he  said  to 
himself  ;  "  and  she  does  not  know  it  was  done  for  her  sake." 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Minister  were  left  looking  at 
each  other. 

"  I  am  apprehensive  of  that  lad's  future,"  remarked  the 
Schoolmaster,  "if  he  gives  way  to  such  unruly  gusts  of 
passion,  and  betrays  the  symptoms — the  evidences,  I  might 
even  say — of  a  lawless  and  undisciplined  mind." 

"  We  will  leave  that  for  the  present,  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said 
the  Minister,  rather  impatiently.  "  I  will  examine  his  con- 
duct later  on.  In  the  meantime,  you  have  something  to  say 
about  my  niece." 

"  She  may  be  in  the  house ,"  began  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  She  is  in  the  house,"  said  the  Minister,  decisively. 
"  None  of  my  boys  has  ever  been  known  to  tell  a  lie." 

"  At  all  events,  Mr.  Cassilis,  with  my  own  eyes  did  I  see 
her  walking  with  that  young  man.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say. 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  judge  whether  such  conduct  is  becoming 
to  one  who  may  be  regarded,  or  considered,  as  your  daughter; 
or,  indeed,  whether  it  is  safe  for  herself.  "We  have  a  duty — 
an  obligation,  I  might  even  call  it — to  consider  how  our 
actions  look  in  the  eyes  of  our  neighbour,  so  as  not  to  offend, 
but  to  walk  decently  and  uprightly " 

"  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said  the  Minister,  interrupting  him  some- 
what rudely,  "  you  may  depend  on  it  that  my  niece  has  no, 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  67 

clandestine  relations  with  Lord  Earlshope.  It  is  not  many- 
days  since  they  met  each  other  for  the  first  time.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  when  you  saw  them  together  it  was  but  a  chance 
meeting.     You  would  not  have  them  fly  from  each  other  ?  " 

The  Schoolmaster  shook  his  head.  He  was  beginning  a 
serious  discourse  on  the  duties  of  "  professors,"  when  the 
.Minister  was  forced  to  remind  his  visitor  that  this  was  the 
1  norning  on  which  he  began  his  studies  for  the  succeeding 
Sabbath,  and  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  postpone  further 
mention  of  the  matter  at  present. 

"  "We  may  return  to  it  again  at  a  more  convenient  season," 
said  the  Schoolmaster,  as  he  took  his  leave,  "seeing  the 
importance  of  one  in  your  position,  Mr.  Cassilis,  being 
above  reproach  in  all  your  ways  and  actions  in  this 
parish." 

All  that  day,  and  all  that  evening,  Coquette  was  very 
silent,  proud,  and  miserable.  Once  only  she  saw  theWhaup  ; 
hut  he  went  away  from  her  in  another  direction.  It  was 
understood  in  the  Manse  that  something  serious  with  regard 
to  the  Whaup  was  in  the  wind.  For  more  than  an  hour  in 
the  afternoon  he  was  in  his  father's  study ;  and  when  he 
came  out,  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  looking  over  his  live 
pets — he  supported  a  considerable  stock  of  animals — and 
visiting  his  favourite  haunts  in  the  neighbourhood,  just  as  if 
he  were  going  away. 

Next  morning  Coquette  met  him  at  breakfast ;  he  did  not 
sj>eak  to  her.  If  he  had  even  said  good  morning,  she  fancied 
she  would  have  burst  into  tears  and  begged  his  forgiveness, 
and  told  him  all  that  oppressed  her.  But  again,  as  she  saw 
him  silent  and  reserved — grave,  indeed,  far  beyond  his  wont 
— she  put  it  down  to  pride  ;  and  then  she  in  her  turn  grew 
proud,  and  closed  her  lips  with  an  inflexible  air,  and  felt 
supremely  wretched. 

Some  little  time  after  they  had  dispersed  from  the  break- 
fast table,  the  Whaup  saw  Coquette  cross  the  courtyard,  with 
her  small  hat  and  shawl  on.  When  she  perceived  him,  she 
walked  rather  timidly  to  him,  and  said, 

"  I  am  going  for  a  walk  ;  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  come 
with  me." 

"  Where  are  yon  going  ?  "  he  asked,  coldly. 

"  In  the  direction  I  went  yesterday.     I  promised  to  go  ; 

F  2 


68  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH 

I  do  think  it  likely  I  shall  meet  Lord  Earlshope,  that  is  why 
I  want  you  to  come  with  me." 

"  You  promised  to  meet  him,  and  now  ask  me  to  join  ;  no, 
thank  you.     I  should  be  the  third  wheel  of  the  cart." 

He  turned  and  went  away.  She  looked  after  him.  A  few 
minutes  before  she  had  resolved  she  would  not  go  for  this 
walk ;  she  would  rather  break  that  slightly-given  promise. 
But  when  she  saw  him  go  away  like  that,  her  Bps  were  again 
pressed  proudly  and  determinedly  together ;  and  she  raised 
the  latch  of  the  green  gate  and  passed  out  into  the  moorland 
road. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  MEETING   ON   THE  MOOR. 

"  I  am  very  miserable,"  said  Coquette,  struggling  bravely 
to  restrain  her  tears. 

"  You  miserable  ?  "  cried  Lord  Earlshope,  whom  she  met 
before  she  had  gone  five  hundred  yards  from  the  Manse. 
"  It  is  impossible  !  I  do  not  think  you  have  the  capacity  to 
be  miserable.  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Tell  me  all  about 
it." 

It  was  a  dangerous  moment  for  the  exhibition  of  kindness. 
She  felt  herself  an  exile  from  the  Manse,  and  receiving 
comfort  and  sympathy  from  a  stranger. 

She  told  him  her  story,  rapidly,  and  in  French.  To  have 
the  burden  of  a  foreign  tongue  removed  was  in  itself  a  con- 
solation to  her  ;  and  she  found  inexpressible  relief  in  being 
able  to  talk  fully  and  freely  about  all  her  surroundings  at 
the  Manse — about  her  relations  with  a  number  of  people  so 
unlike  her  in  temperament  and  bringing-up — about  these 
present  circumstances  which  seemed  to  be  conspiring  to  goad 
her  into  some  desperate  act. 

Earlshope  listened  patiently  and  attentively,  deeply  inter- 
ested, and  yet  inclined  to  smile  sometimes. 

"  I  should  laugh  at  all  that,"  said  he,  when  she  had  finished, 
"  because  I  am  a  man  ;  and  men  are  indifferent  to  these 
delicate  considerations  chiefly  because  they  can  avoid  them. 
If  a  man  dislikes  the  people  he  is  among,  he  has  merely  to 
go  away.     But  a  woman  is  very  dependent  on  the  temper 


A  MEETING  ON  THE  MOOR.  69 

and  disposition  of  those  around  her  ;  and  you  especially 
seem  almost  without  resource.  You  have  no  other  re- 
latives ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Coquette. 

"  No  lady-friend  with  whom  you  could  stay  ?  " 

"  Many — many  with  whom  I  should  like  to  stay,"  said 
the  girl,  "  but  they  are  all  in  France  ;  and  I  have  been  sent 
here.  Yet  you  must  not  misunderstand  what  I  do  say.  I 
do  not  dislike  my  relatives.  My  uncle  is  a  very  good  man, 
and  very  kind  to  me.  My  cousin,  I  do  think,  is  more  than 
kind  to  me,  and  ready  to  incur  danger  in  defending  my 
faults.  The  other  people  cannot  be  angry  with  me  ;  for  I 
have  done  them  no  harm.  Yet  everything  is  wrong — I  do 
not  know  how.  At  this  moment  I  know  myself  very  guilty 
in  coming  to  see  you  ;  and  I  should  not  have  come  but  that 
Cousin  Tom  would  not  speak  to  me." 

"I  think  Cousin  Tom  has  been  quarrelling  with  you 
about  me,"  said  Earlshope. 

He  spoke  very  quietly,  and  with  rather  an  amused  air ; 
but  Coquette  was  startled  and  a  little  alarmed.  She  did  not 
wish  her  companion  to  know  that  he  had  anything  to  do 
with  what  had  occurred. 

"  Now,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  it  would  be  a  great  pity  if 
I  were  the  cause  of  any  of  your  troubles.  You  see  I  have 
no  companions  here — you  have  not  many.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  we  might  often  have  a  very  pleasant  chat  or  walk 
together ;  but  I  must  not  be  selfish.  You  must  not  suffer 
anything  on  my  account ;  so,  if  your  friends  at  the  Manse 
are  inclined  to  mistake  our  brief  acquaintanceship,  let  it 
cease.  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  as  you  are.  You  are 
evidently  out  of  sorts,  for  you  have  never  laughed  this 
morning  yet — nor  run  off  the  road — nor  paid  the  least 
attention  to  the  sunlight  or  the  colours  of  the  sea  out  yonder. 
I  should  far  prefer  looking  at  you  from  a  distance  as  an  entire 
stranger — if  I  could  see  you,  as  you  usually  are,  fluttering 
about  like  a  butterfly,  enjoying  the  warmth,  and  the  colours, 
and  light  around  you,  without  a  care,  and  quite  unconscious 
how  perfectly  happy  you  are." 

As  Coquette  heard  these  words,  uttered  in  a  cruelly  calm 
and  kindly  voice,  she  became  afraid.  What  was  this 
strange  aching  sense  of  disappointment  that  filled  her  heart  ? 


70  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Why  was  it  that  she  contemplated  with  dismay  a  proposal 
which  he  had  clearly  shown  would  secure  her  happiness  and 
peace  ?  She  was  miserable  before  ;  she  was  ten  times  more 
wretched  now. 

He  did  not  seem  to  notice  any  alteration  in  her  expression 
or  manner.  They  had  got  to  the  crest  of  a  hill  from  which 
the  line  of  the  coast  was  visible  ;  with  a  plain  of  sunlit  sea 
beyond ;  and  Arran  lying  like  a  great  blue  cloud  on  the 
horizon.  A  faint  haze  of  heat  filled  the  south  ;  and  the 
distant  Ailsa  Craig  was  of  a  pearly  grey. 

Coquette's  companion  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Do  you  see  that  yacht  ?  "  said  he,  pointing  to  a  vessel 
which  the  distance  rendered  very  small — a  schooner  yacht 
with  her  two  masts  lying  rakishly  back,  and  her  white  sails 
shining  in  the  sun,  as  she  cut  through  the  green  water  with 
a  curve  of  white  round  her  prow. 

"  It  is  a  stunning  little  boat,"  said  Coquette  simply, 
returning  to  the  English  which  she  had  picked  up  from  her 
father. 

Lord  Earlshope  did  not  laugh  at  her  blunder  as  the 
Whaup  would  have  laughed.     He  merely  said — 

"  She  has  been  lying  at  Greenock  to  be  overhauled  and 
set  to  rights  ;  and  I  telegraphed  to  have  the  name  altered 
as  well.  The  first  time  you  go  down  to  Ardrossan  you  will 
find  lying  there  a  yacht  bearing  the  name — Coquette." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Coquette,  breaking  at  last  into  a 
smile,  "  everybody  did  use  to  call  me  that  ?  " 

"  So  I  heard  from  one  of  your  cousins  the  other  day," 
said  her  companion. 

"  And  you  called  the  boat  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  look 
of  wonder. 

"  Yes  ;  I  took  the  liberty  of  naming  it  after  your  pet 
name — I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  well  pleased — very  much — 
it  is  a  very  kind  compliment  to  do  that,  is  it  not  ?  But  you 
have  not  told  me  you  had  a  yacht." 

"  It  is  one  of  my  abandoned  amusements.  I  wanted  to  sur- 
prise you,  though  ;  and  I  had  some  wild  hope  of  inveigling 
Mr.  Cassilis,  yourself,  and  your  cousin  into  going  for  a 
day  or  two's  cruise  up  some  of  the  lochs — Loch  Fyne,  Loch 
Linnhe,  or  some  of  these.     It  would  have  been  pleasant  for 


A  MEETING  ON  THE  MOOR.  71 

you,  I  think,  as  you  don't  know  anything  of  the  West  High- 
land lochs  and  mountains.  The  scenery  is  the  most  varied 
of  any  I  have  ever  seen,  and  more  picturesque  in  the  way  of 
colour.  You  can  have  no  idea  of  the  wildness  of  the 
northern  sunsets  ;  and  of  late  I  have  been  picturing  you 
sitting  on  deck  with  .us  in  the*  twilight — the  stillness  of 
the  place — the  calling  of  the  wild-fowl — the  dense  and 
mysterious  darkness  of  the  mountains  in  the  glow  of  cold, 
clear  light.     Do  you  think  Mr.  Cassilis  would  have  gone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Coquette. 

She  was  becoming  hard  and  obdurate  again.  He  had 
spoken  of  his  project  as  a  thing  of  the  past.  It  was  no 
longer  possible  ;  but  the  mere  mention  of  it  had  filled 
Coquette  with  a  wistful  longing.  It  would  have  been 
pleasant  indeed  to  have  gone  away  on  this  dream-like 
Lrsion,  and  wandered  round  the  lonely  islands,  and  up 
the  great  stretches  of  sea-lochs  of  wdiich  her  father  had 
many  a  time  spoken  to  her  when  she  was  a  child.  Never- 
theless, since  her  companion  had  chosen  to  give  up  the 
proposal,  she  would  not  ask  him  to  reconsider  his  resolve. 
They  were  about  to  become  strangers  :  well  and  good. 

"  I  must  go  back  now,"  she  said. 

]  Ie  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  by  telling  you  what  I  had  been 
dreaming  about  ?  After  all,  it  was  but  a  fancy — and  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  not  saying  first  of  all  that  I  was  far  from 
sure  that  you  yourself  would  go,  even  had  I  persuaded  Mr. 
Cassilis." 

"  No,  you  have  not  offended  me,"  said  Coquette.  "  Your 
thought  was  very  kind.     But  I  am  sorry  it  is  all  over." 

"  I  see  I  have  not  brought  you  peace  of  mind  yet,"  he 
said,  gently.  "  You  are  not  Miss  Cassilis — may  I  say  that 
you  are  not  Coquette? — this  morning.  What  can  I  do  for 
yon  ?  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  your  elder 
brother,  and  tell  me  if  there  is  anything  in  which  I  can  help 
you.  Shall  I  go  up  to  the  Manse  and  hint  to  Mr.  Cassilis 
that — that — well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  should  be  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  to  hint." 

He  smiled  ;  but  she  was  quite  grave. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "  They  are  very  good  to 
me — what  more  ?    Do  not  let  us  talk  of  it  any  more.      Let 


72  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

us  talk  of  something  else.  "Why  do  you  never  go  in  your 
yacht  ?  " 

"  Because  I  lost  interest  in  it,  as  I  lost  interest  in  a  dozen 
other  things.  Steeple-chasing  was  my  longest-lived  hobby, 
I  think,  for  I  used  to  be  rather  successful.  Eiding  nine 
stone  six,  with  a  five-pound  saddle,  I  had  a  pretty  fair  share 
of  luck." 

"  And  now  you  only  read  books,  and  smoke,  and  fell  trees 
in  the  cold  weather  to  make  you  warm.  What  books  ? 
Romances  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  more  improbable  the  better." 

"  You  get  interested  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  but  not  in  the  story.  I  read  the  story  and  try  to 
look  at  the  brain  of  the  writer  all  the  time.  Then  you 
begin  to  wonder  at  the  various  notions  of  the  world  these 
various  heads  have  conceived.  If  I  were  a  physiologist,  I 
should  like  to  read  a  novel,  and  draw  a  picture  of  the  author 
gathered  from  the  colouring  and  sentiments  of  his  book." 

"That  is  all  so  very  morbid,"  she  said.  "And  in  your 
poetry,  too,  I  suppose  you  like  the — ah,  I  cannot  say  what  I 
mean." 

"But  I  understand  all  the  same,"  he  said,  laughing  ; 
"  and  I  am  going  to  disappoint  you,  if  you  have  formed  a 
theory.  I  like  old-fashioned  poetry,  and  especially  the 
lyrics  of  the  old  dramatists.  Then  poetry  was  as  wide  as 
life  itself,  and  included  everything  that  could  interest  a 
man.  A  writer  was  not  afraid  to  talk  of  everyday  experi- 
ences, and  was  gay,  or  patriotic,  or  sarcastic,  just  as  the 
moment  suited.  But  don't  you  think  the  poetry  of  the 
present  time  is  only  the  expression  of  one  mood — that  it  is 
permeated  all  through  with  sadness  and  religious  melan- 
cholia ?     What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?  " 

The  abrupt  question  was  addressed  to  the  Minister. 
Coquette  had  been  walking  carelessly  onward,  with  her  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground  ;  and  had  not  perceived  the  approach  of 
her  uncle.  When  she  heard  the  sudden  termination  of 
Earlshope's  disquisition  on  poetry,  she  looked  up  with  a 
start,  and  turned  pale.  The  Minister's  eyes  she  found  fixed 
upon  her,  and  she  dared  not  return  that  earnest  look. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lord  Earlshope  ?  "  said  Mr.  Cassilis, 
looking  calmly  at  both  of  them. 


A  MEETING  ON  THE  MOOR.  73 

"  I  was  victimising  your  niece,  whom  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  meet,  with  a  sermon  on  modern  poetry,"  said  Lord 
Earlshope,  lightly  ;  "  and,  as  she  seemed  to  pay  no  attention 
to  me,  I  appealed  to  you.  However,  the  subject  is  not  an 
enticing  one — as  Miss  Cassilis  apparently  discovered. 
Which  way  are  you  walking  ?     Shall  we  join  you  ?  " 

The  deep-set  eyes  of  the  Minister,  under  the  shaggy  eye- 
brows, were  closely  regarding  the  speaker  during  the 
utterance  of  these  words.  Mr.  Cassilis  was  satisfied — so  far 
as  Lord  Earlshope  was  concerned.  No  actor  could  have 
been  so  obviously  and  wholly  at  ease — the  fact  being  that 
the  young  man  did  not  even  suspect  that  he  had  become  an 
object  of  suspicion.  He  had  not  inveigled  the  Minister's 
niece  into  a  secret  interview ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had, 
mainly  by  chance,  met  a  pleasant  and  pretty  neighbour  out 
for  her  morning  walk,  and  why  should  he  not  speak  to  her  ? 

But  when  the  Minister  turned  to  Coquette  he  found  a 
different  story  written  on  her  face — a  story  that  caused  him 
some  concern.  She  appeared  at  once  embarrassed  and 
distressed.  She  said  nothing,  and  looked  at  neither  of 
them  ;  but  there  was  in  her  eyes  (bent  on  a  bit  of  heather 
she  was  pulling  to  pieces)  an  expression  of  constraint  and 
disquiet,  which  was  plainly  visible  to  him,  if  not  to  Lord 
Earlshope. 

"  If  you  will  relieve  me  from  the  duties  of  escort,"  said 
the  latter  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  "I  think  I  shall  bid  you  both 
good  morning,  as  I  have  to  walk  over  to  Altyre  Farm  and 
back  before  luncheon." 

So  he  parted  from  them,  Coquette  not  daring  to  look  up 
as  he  shook  hands  with  her.  She  and  the  Minister  were  left 
alone. 

For  a  minute  or  two  they  walked  on  in  silence ;  and  it 
seemed  to  Coquette  that  the  hour  of  her  deepest  tribulation 
had  come.  So  bright  and  happy  had  been  the  life  of  this 
young  creature  that  with  her  to  be  downcast  was  to  be 
miserable  :  to  be  suspected  was  equivalent  to  being  guilty. 
Suspicion  she  could  not  bear ;  secrecy  seemed  to  suffocate 
her  ;  and  she  had  now  but  one  despairing  notion  in  her 
head — to  escape  and  fly  from  this  lonely  northern  region  into 
which  she  had  been  sent — to  get  away  from  a  combination 
of  circumstances  that  appeared  likely  to  overwhelm  her. 


74  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  may  I  go  back  to  France  ?  " 

"  My  child ! "  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  in  amazement,  "  what  is 
the  matter  ?  Surely  you  do  not  mean  that  your  short  stay 
with  us  has  been  disagreeable  to  you  ?  I  have  noticed,  it  is 
true,  that  you  have  of  late  been  rather  out  o'  sorts,  but 
judged  it  was  but  some  temporary  indisposition.  Has  any- 
thing annoyed  you — have  you  any  cause  of  complaint  ?  " 

"  Complaint  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  when  you  have  been  so  kind 
to  me  !  No,  no  complaint.  But  I  do  think  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  this  place — I  am  sorry  I  cannot  satisfy,  although 
I  put  away  all  my  pictures,  and  books,  and  the  crucifix,  so 
that  no  one  can  see.  But  I  am  suspected — I  do  hear  them 
talk  of  me  as  dangerous.  It  is  natural — it  is  right,  perhaps 
— but  not  pleasant  to  me.  Just  now,"  she  added,  desperately, 
"  you  think  I  did  promise  to  meet  Lord  Earlshope,  and  you 
did  come  to  take  me  home." 

"  Had  you  not  promised  ? "  said  the  Minister,  looking 
steadily  and  yet  affectionately  at  her. 

For  a  second  the  girl's  lip  trembled  ;  but  the  next  moment 
she  was  saying  rapidly,  with  something  of  wildness  in  her 
tone  and  manner — 

"  I  did  not  promise  ;  no.  But  I  did  expect  to  see 
him — I  did  hope  to  see  him  when  I  came  out ;  and  is  it 
wrong  ?  Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  speak  to  a  stranger,  when  I 
do  see  him  kind  to  me,  in  a  place  where  there  are  not  many 
amiable  people  ?  If  it  is  wrong,  it  is  because  Lord  Earlshope 
is  not  suspicious,  and  hard,  and  ill-judging,  like  the  others. 
That  is  why  they  do  say  ill  of  him ;  that  is  why  they 
persuade  me  to  think  ill  of  him.  I  do  not ;  I  will  not. 
Since  I  left  France  I  did  meet  no  one  so  courteous — so 
friendly — as  he  has  been.  Why  can  I  talk  to  him  so  easily  ? 
He  does  not  think  me  wicked  because  I  have  a  crucifix  that 
my  mother  gave  me — that  is  why  we  are  friends  ;  and  he 
does  not  suspect  me.  But  it  is  all  over.  "We  are  not  to  be 
friends  again  ;  we  may  see  each  other  to-morrow  ;  we  shall 
not  speak.  Shall  I  tell  Leesiebess  ? — perhaps  it  will  please 
her ! " 

She  spoke  with  an  angry  and  bitter  vehemence,  that  was 
strangely  out  of  consonance  with  her  ordinary  serenity  of 
demeanour.  The  Minister  took  her  hand  gently  in  his, 
saying  nothing  at  all,  and  led  her  back  to  the  Manse. 


COQUETTE'S  CONQUESTS.  75 


CHAPTER  XII. 

coquette's  conquests. 

There  ensued  a  long  period  of  rain — day  after  day 
breaking  sullen  and  cold,  with  a  perpetual  drizzle  falling 
from  a  grey  and  cheerless  sky.  There  were  none  of  the 
sharp  and  heavy  showers  which  a  south-west  gale  brings, 
with  dashes  of  blue  between  ;  but  a  slow,  fine,  wetting  rain, 
that  rendered  everything  humid  and  limp,  and  hid  the  far- 
off  line  of  the  sea  and  the  mountains  of  Arran  behind  a 
cm-tain  of  mist. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  forced  imprisonment  caused  by  the 
rain  that  made  Coquette  look  ill ;  but,  at  all  events,  she 
grew  so  pale  and  listless  that  even  the  boys  noticed  it.  All 
her  former  spirits  were  gone.  She  was  no  longer  interested 
in  their  sports  ;  and  taught  them  no  more  new  games.  She 
kept  much  to  her  own  room,  and  read  at  a  window.  She 
read  those  books  which  she  had  brought  with  her  from  the 
sunny  region  of  the  Loire  ;  and  when  she  turned  from  the 
open  page  to  look  out  upon  the  wet  and  misty  landscape  all 
around,  she  came  back  again  with  a  sigh  to  the  volume  on 
her  knee. 

Lord  Earlshope  never  came  near  the  Manse  ;  perhaps,  she 
thought,  he  had  left  the  country.  The  only  communication 
she  had  with  him  was  on  the  day  following  their  last 
meeting.  She  then  sent  him  a  note  consisting  of  but  one 
line,  which  was — "  Please  do  not  call  your  boat  Coquette" 
This  missive  she  had  entrusted  to  her  cousin  Wattie,  who 
delivered  it,  and  returned  with  the  answer  that  Lord  Earls- 
hope had  merely  said  "  All  right."  Wattie,  however,  broke 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him ;  and  told  his  brothers  that 
he  had  been  sent  with  a  message  to  Earlshope.  The  Whaup 
profited  by  this  intelligence  ;  but  punished  Wattie  all  the 
same ;  for  on  that  night,  Coquette  heard  murmurings  and 
complainings  underneath  her  window.  She  looked  out. 
There  was  some  starlight ;  and  she  could  indistinctly  see 
a  figure  in  white  moving  in  the  garden  underneath  that 
building,  the  upper  storey  of  which,  originally  a  hay-loft, 


76  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

had  been  transformed  into  a  dormitory  for  the  boys.  The 
cause  of  the  disturbance  soon  became  apparent.  After  the 
boys  had  undressed,  the  Whaup  had  wheedled  or  compelled 
Wattie  into  making  a  rush  to  the  garden  for  some  fruit. 
He  had  then  taken  advantage  of  his  position  to  pull  the 
ladder  into  the  loft,  by  which  mean  device  his  brother  was 
left  standing  below  in  his  night-shirt.  In  vain  Wattie 
petitioned  to  be  let  up  to  his  bed.  With  his  teeth  chattering 
in  his  head,  he  entreated  that  at  least  his  trousers  might  be 
flung  down  to  him  ;  but  he  was  not  relieved  from  punishment 
until  the  Whaup  had  administered  a  severe  lecture  to  him 
on  the  shabbiness  of  betraying  a  lady's  confidence. 

"  I'll  never  do't  again,  as  sure's  I'm  here  !  "  said  Wattie, 
who  was  feebly  endeavouring  to  mitigate  his  sufferings  by 
balancing  himself  on  his  toes — a  feat  in  which  he  naturally 
failed. 

"  Since  it  is  no  likely  to  rain,"  said  the  Whaup,  looking 
spitefully  at  the  clear  star-lit  sky,  "  there  is  little  use 
in  keeping  ye  there,  so  ye  may  hae  the  ladder — ye  sneak  !  " 

The  Whaup  never  spoke  to  Coquette  about  that  letter ; 
but  it  was  the  occasion  of  his  prolonging  the  estrangement 
which  he  had  sternly  decided  upon.  He  deliberately  ignored 
her  presence.  He  would  not  complain  of  her  keeping  up 
what  he  imagined  to  be  a  clandestine  correspondence  ;  neither 
would  he  take  any  steps  to  put  an  end  to  it.  He  contented 
himself  with  thinking  that  if  ever  there  should  be  necessity 
for  confronting  Earlshope  personally,  and  altering  matters 
that  way,  there  would  be  one  person  in  the  Manse  ready  to 
adventure  something  for  the  sake  of  Coquette. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  at  this  time,  and  it  was  through  the 
Whaup's  instrumentality,  that  Coquette  achieved  her  first 
great  victory  in  Airlie — a  success  which  was  but  the 
beginning  of  a  strange  series  of  successes,  and  fraught  with 
important  consequences  to  her.  It  all  fell  about  in  this 
way.  First,  the  Whaup  relented.  When  the  rain  began, 
and  he  saw  his  French  cousin  mope  and  pine  indoors — 
when  he  saw  how  she  was  growing  languid  and  listless,  and 
still  strove  to  be  cheerful  and  amiable  to  those  around  her, 
his  resolve  broke  down.  By  insensible  degrees  he  tried  to 
re-establish  their  old  relations.  He  showed  her  little 
attentions,  and  performed  towards  her  small  acts  of  thought- 


COQUETTE'S  CONQUESTS.  77 

fulness  and  kindness,  which  she  was  not  slow  to  acknowledge. 
Re  was  not  impudently  and  patronisingly  good  to  her  as  he 
had  been  ;  there  was  a  certain  restraint  over  his  approaches  ; 
but  she  met  them  all  with  that  simplicity  of  gratitude  which 
the  dark  eyes  and  the  sweet  face  could  so  readily  and 
effectually  express  when  her  imperfect  English  failed  her. 
And  the  Whaup  no  longer  corrected  her  blunders  with  his 
old  scornful  impatience. 

One  morning  there  was  a  temporary  cessation  of  the  rain. 

"Why  don't  you  go  down  and  return  the  Pensioner's 
visit  ?  "  said  the  Whaup  to  Coquette. 

"  If  you  please,  I  will  go." 

For  the  first  time  for  many  a  day  these  two  went  out  of 
the  Manse  together.  It  was  like  a  revival  of  old  times 
— though  the  Whaup  would  not  have  believed  you  had  you 
told  him  how  short  a  space  Coquette  had  actually  lived  in 
A  irlie.  The  cold  and  damp  wind  brought  a  tinge  of  colour 
to  the  girl's  cheeks  ;  the  Whaup  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  pleasant  and  charming. 

While  Coquette  lingered  in  the  small  garden  of  the 
cottage,  the  Whaup  went  up  to  the  door  and  told  the 
Pensioner  who  had  come  to  see  him. 

"  Cot  pless  me ! "  he  hastily  exclaimed,  looking  down 
at  his  legs.  "Keep  her  in  sa  garden  till  I  change  my 
breeks 

"What  for  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Dinna  ye  see  sey  are  tartan  !  "  cried  Neil,  in  an  excited 
whisper,  "  and  sa  French  canna  stand  sa  tartan." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  She  won't  look  at  your 
trousers." 

"  It  is  no  nonsense,  but  very  good  sense  whatever,"  said 
the  Highlandman  ;  "  it  wass  two  friends  o'  mine,  and  they 
went  over  to  France  sa  very  last  year,  and  one  o'  them,  sey 
took  his  bags  and  his  luggage,  and  sey  pulled  sis  way  and 
sat  way,  and  sey  will  sweer  at  him  in  French — but  he  will 
not  know  what  it  wass  said  to  him — and  sey  will  take  many 
things  from  him,  mirover,  and  he  will  not  know  why.  But, 
said  I  to  him,  *  Tonald,  wTill  you  have  on  your  tartan  plaid 
round  your  shoulders  ? '  And  says  he,  *  I  had.'  And  said 
I  to  him,  *  Did  you  will  no  ken  how  sa  French  canna  stand 
sa  tartan  ever  since  Waterloo  ? ' " 


78  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

The  Pensioner  ran  inside,  and  speedily  re-appeared  in 
plain  grey.  Then  he  came  oufc,  and  bade  Coquette  welcome 
with  a  dignified  courtesy  that  surprised  her. 

"  You  would  not  come  to  see  me,  so  I  have  come  to  see 
you,"  she  said  to  the  old  man. 

"It  wassna  for  the  likes  o'  me  to  visit  a  letty,"  said 
Neil. 

He  dusted  a  chair  with  his  sleeve,  and  asked  her  to  sit 
down.  Then  he  put  three  glasses  on  the  table,  and  brought 
out  a  black  bottle.  He  filled  one  of  the  glasses  and  offered 
it  to  Coquette. 

"  She  canna  drink  whisky  ! "  said  the.Whaup,  with  a  rude 
laugh. 

"  It  is  sa  rale  Lagavulin,"  said  Neil,  indignantly,  "  and 
wouldna  harm  a  flee." 

Coquette  put  the  glass  to  her  lips,  and  then  placed  it  on 
the  table. 

"  Ye  may  drink  it  up,  mem,"  said  Neil.  "  Do  ye  ken 
that  ye  can  drink  sa  goot  whisky  until  ye  stagger,  and  it 
will  do  ye  no  harm  in  sa  morning  ?  I  do  pelieve  it  is  sa 
finest  sing  in  the  world's  universe — a  gran'  good  stagger  as 
ye  will  go  home  in  sa  night." 

"  You  have  been  in  battle  ? "  said  Coquette,  by  way  of 
changing  the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  yes,  mem,"  said  Neil,  looking  desperately  un- 
comfortable.    "  It  wass — it  wass — it  wass  in  a  war." 

"  Have  you  been  in  more  than  one  war  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  mem — yes,  mem,"  stammered  Neil,  in  great  em- 
barrassment, as  he  glanced  to  see  that  his  tartan  trousers 
were  well  shoved  under  the  bed  ;  "  but  it  is  of  no  matter 
how  many  wars.  It  will  pe  all  over  pefore  you  were  porn — 
never  mind  about  sa  wars." 

"  I  hear  you  were  at  Waterloo  ?  "  said  Coquette,  innocently. 

The  Pensioner  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Who  wass  it  tellt  you  of  Waterloo  ?  "  said  he,  in  great 
indignation.  "  I  never  heard  sa  like  !  It  wass  a  shame — 
and  I  would  not  take  a  hundred  pounds  and  forget  mysel' 
like  sat.  And  you  will  be  blaming  us  Hielanders  for  what 
we  did — and  we  did  a  goot  teal  there — but  there  wass  others 
too.  There  wass  English  there  too.  And  the  French — sey 
fought  well,  as  every  one  o'  us  will  tell  ye  ;  and  I  wouldna 


COQUETTE'S  CONQUESTS.  79 

sink  too  much  o't ;  for  maype  it  isna  true  sat  Napoleon 
died  on  sa  island.     Didna  he  come  pack  pefore  ?  " 

Having  offered  Coquette  this  grain  of  comfort,  Neil  hastily 
iped  from  the  subject  by  getting  his  violin  and  beginning 
to  screw  up  the  strings. 

"  I  have  been  learning  a  lot  of  your  Scotch  airs,"  said 
Coquette,  "  and  I  have  become  very  fond  of  some  of  them — 
the  sad  ones  especially.  But  I  suppose  you  prefer  the  lively 
duos  for  the  violin." 

"I  can  play  sem  all  every  one  together,"  said  Neil, 
proudly.  "I  do  not  play  sem  well,  but  I  know  all  our 
music — every  one." 

"  You  play  a  great  deal  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Neil,  fondling  his  violin  affectionately,  "  I  do 
not  play  sa  fiddle  much,  but  I  like  to  be  aye  playing." 

There  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  reply  which  did  not 
escape  the  delicate  perception  of  his  guest.  She  looked  at 
the  old  man,  at  his  scanty  grey  hair  and  dazed  eyes,  and 
was  glad  that  he  had  this  constant  companion  to  amuse  and 
interest  him.  He  did  not  like  to  play  much — to  make 
a  labour  of  this  recreation  ;  but  he  liked  to  have  the  whine 
of  the  tight  strings  always  present  to  his  ear. 

He  played  her  a  selection  of  his  best  airs,  with  many  an 
apology.  He  chatted  about  the  tunes  too,  and  told  tales 
concerning  them,  until  he  was  as  familiar  with  the  young 
lady  as  though  he  had  known  her  a  lifetime  ;  and  she  was 
laughing  at  his  odd  stories  more  than  she  had  laughed  for 
many  a  day.     At  last  she  said — 

"  That  '  Flowers  of  the  Forest '  is  a  beautiful  air,  but  you 
want  it  harmonised.  Will  you  come  up  to  the  Manse  now, 
and  I  will  play  it  for  you?  I  have  been  trying  it  much 
lately." 

S:>  the  Pensioner  walked  up  to  the  Manse  with  them  ;  and 
soon  found  himself  in  Coquette's  parlour.  His  hostess 
remembered  how  she  had  been  received,  and  went  into  the 
room  adjoining  for  a  second  or  two.  "When  she  returned 
there  was  a  small  bottle  in  her  hand. 

"  This  is  some  French  brandy  which  my  old  nurse  gave 
me  when  I  left,  in  case  I  should  be  ill  at  sea ;  you  see  I 
have  not  even  opened  the  bottle." 

The  "Whaup  got  a  corkscrew  and  a  glass,  and  soon  had 


80  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

half  a  tumblerful  of  the  brandy  to  offer  to  Neil.  The 
Pensioner  looked  at  it,  smelt  it,  said  "  Slainte  ! "  and 
— to  the  horror  of  Coquette — gulped  it  down.  The 
next  moment  his  face  was  a  mass  of  moving  muscles — 
twisting  and  screwing  into  every  expression  of  agony,  while 
he  gasped  and  choked,  and  could  only  say,  "  Water ! — 
water  !  "  But  when  the  Whaup  quickly  poured  him  out  a 
glass  of  water  he  regarded  it  at  arm's  length  for  a  second, 
and  then  put  it  away. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  his  face  still  screwed  up  to  agony 
pitch,  "  I  can  thole." 

Coquette  did  not  understand  what  had  happened  ;  but 
when  her  cousin,  with  unbecoming  frankness,  explained  to 
her  that  the  Pensioner  would  rather  "  thole  "  (or  suffer)  the 
delicious  torture  in  his  throat  than  spoil  it  with  water,  she 
was  nearly  joining  in  the  Whaup's  impudent  mirth. 

But  the  brandy  had  no  perceptible  effect  on  Neil.  He 
sat  and  listened  sedately  to  the  music  she  played ;  and  it 
was  only  when  his  enthusiasm  was  touched  that  he  broke 
out  with  some  exclamation  of  delight.  At  length  the  old 
man  left — the  Whaup  also  going  away  to  those  exceptional 
studies  which  had  been  recently  imposed  on  him  as  a 
condition  of  his  remaining  at  Airlie. 

Coquette  sat  alone  at  the  piano.  The  grey  day  was 
darkening  to  the  afternoon ;  and  the  rain  had  begun  again 
its  wearisome  patter  on  the  pane.  She  had  French  music 
before  her — bright  and  laughing  songs  of  the  bygone  and 
happy  time — but  she  could  not  sing  them.  Almost  un- 
consciously to  herself,  she  followed  the  wanderings  of  her 
fancy  in  the  dreamland  of  that  old  and  plaintive  music  that 
she  had  recently  discovered.  Now  it  was  "  The  Lowlands 
o'  Holland "  ;  again  it  was  "  Helen  of  Kirkconnell "  ; 
again  it  was  "  Logan  Braes "  that  filled  the  room  with 
its  sadness  ;  until  she  came  back  to  "  The  Flowers  of  the 
Forest."  She  sang  a  verse  of  it — merely  out  of  caprice,  to 
see  if  she  could  master  the  pronunciation — and  just  as  she 
had  finished  the  door  was  opened,  and  Leezibeth  stood  there. 

Coquette  turned  from  the  piano  with  a  sigh :  doubtless 
Leezibeth  had  appeared  to  prefer  some  complaint. 

The  woman  came  up  to  her  and  said — with  the  most 
painful  shamefacedness  clouding  her  look — 


COQUETTE'S  CONQUESTS.  81 

"  Will  ye  sing  that  again,  Miss,  if  it  is  no  much  trouble 
to  ye  ?  Maybe  ye'll  no  ken  that  me  and  Andrew  had  a  boy 
— a  bit  laddie  that  dee'd  when  he  was  but  seven  years  auld 
— and — and  he  used  to  sing  the  *  Flowers  o'  the  Forest ' 
afore  a'  the  ither  songs,  and  ye  sing  it  that  fine  that  if  it 
didna  mak  a  body  amaist  like  to  greet " 

She  never  ended  the  sentence  ;  but  the  girl  sang  the 
rest  of  the  song ;  and  the  woman  stood  silent,  with  her 
eyes  turned  to  the  grey  evening  outside.  And  from  that 
day  Leezibeth  was  the  slave  of  Coquette. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  HOROSCOPE. 

Events  were  marching  on  at  Airlie.  Leezibeth  came  to 
Coquette,  and  said — 

"  Sir  Peter  and  Lady  Drum  came  back  frae  Edinburgh 
last  night." 

Coquette  remained  silent,  and  Leezibeth  was  astonished. 
Was  it  possible  the  girl  had  never  heard  of  Sir  Peter  and 
1/idy  Drum  ? 

"  And  I  saw  my  lady  this  morning,  and  she  is  coming  to 
see  you  this  very  afternoon,"  said  Leezibeth,  certain  she  had 
now  effected  a  surprise. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  Are  they  Scotch  ? 
I  do  not  wish  to  see  any  more  Scotch." 

"  Ma  certes  ! "  said  Leezibeth,  firing  up  suddenly  ;  but 
presently  she  said,  in  a  voice  more  gentle  than  Coquette  had 
ever  heard  her  use — "Ye'll  maybe  like  the  Scotch  folk  yet, 
Miss,  when  ye  hae  time  to  understand  them;  and  Lady 
Drum  is  a  grand  woman — just  anextraordinar'  woman  ;  and 
I  told  her  a'  about  ye,  Miss,  and  she  wTas  greatly  interested, 
as  I  could  see  ;  and  I  made  bold,  Miss,  to  say  that  ye  were  a 
bit  out  o'  sorts  the  now,  and  if  my  lady  would  but  ask  ye 
ower  to  Oastle  Cawmil,  and  let  ye  hae  some  company  niair 
fitted  to  ye  than  us  bodies  about  the  Manse,  it  might  cheer 
ye  up  a  bit,  and  bring  some  colour  to  your  cheek." 

Coquette  was  really  surprised  now.  Could  it  be  Leezibeth, 
her  enemy,  who  was  speaking  in  this  timidly  solicitous 
fashion  ? 


82  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you- 


"  Oh,  we  are  no  so  bad  as  ye  think  us,"  said  Leezibeth, 
plucking  up  courage.  "  And  there  is  Scotch  blood  in  your 
ain  veins,  Miss,  as  anybody  can  see — for  the  way  ye  sing  they 
Scotch  songs  is  just  past  believin'  !  " 

From  Coquette's  sitting-room  Leezibeth  went  straight  to 
the  Minister's  study. 

"  I  have  come  to  speak  to  ye,  sir,  about  Miss  Cassilis." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  Minister  impatiently,  "  I  wish  ye 
would  let  my  niece  alone,  Leezibeth  !  " 

But  the  Minister  was  no  less  astonished  than  Coquette 
had  been  when  Leezibeth  unfolded  her  tale,  and  made  it 
apparent  that  she  had  come  to  intercede  for  the  young 
French  girl.  Leezibeth  stood  at  the  door,  and  announced  it 
as  her  decision  that  the  Minister  was  bound  to  see  to  his 
niece's  health  and  comfort  more  effectually  than  he  had 
done.  She  spoke,  indeed,  as  if  she  dared  the  Minister  to 
refuse. 

"  And  Sir  Peter  and  my  lady  are  coming  here,"  continued 
Leezibeth,  "  for  I  met  them  as  they  were  going  over  to 
Earlshope,  and  my  lady  spoke  to  me  about  Miss  Cassilis,  and 
will  doubtless  ask  her  to  visit  her.  Not  only  maun  she  visit 
Castle  Cawmil,  but  she  maun  stay  there,  sir,  until  the  change 
has  done  the  lassie  good." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  Leezibeth  ?  "  said  the 
Minister.  "  Has  she  bewitched  you  ?  Yesterday  you  would 
have  said  of  her,  i  She  is  a  Samaritan,  and  hath  a  devil.' 
Now  she  has  become  your  Benjamin,  as  it  were.  What  will 
Andrew  say  ? " 

"  Let  the  body  mind  his  peas  and  his  pittawties,  and  no 
interfere  wi'  me,"  said  Leezibeth,  with  a  touch  of  vigorous 
contempt. 

Nevertheless,  Leezibeth  had  a  conversation  with  her 
husband  very  shortly  after,  and  was  a  good  deal  more 
cautious  in  her  speech  than  was  customary  with  her.  When 
Andrew  came  into  the  kitchen  to  have  his  dinner,  she  said — 

"Andrew,  my  man,  I'm  thinkin'  we  dinna  understand 
they  Romans.  Could  ye  but  see  the  gude  books  that  that 
lassie  has  wi'  her,  and  see  her  read  a  bit  o'  one  o'  them 
every  night  and  every  mornin' — indeed,  I'm  thinkin', 
Andrew,  the  Romans  maun  be  a  kind  o'  religious  folk,  after  a'." 


A  HOROSCOPE.  83 

Andrew  said  "  Hm  !  "  and  went  on  with  his  broth. 

"  I  wonder,"  continued  Leezibeth,  regarding  her  husband 
with  some  apprehension,  "  whether  there  is  ony  harm  in  the 
bit  pictures  she  has.  It's  my  opeenion  she  doesna  worship 
them — as  if  they  were  a  graven  eemage — but  has  them, 
maybe,  to  jog  her  memory.  Ye  ken,  Andrew,  that  there  was 
a  gran'  difference  atween  the  gowden  calf  that  the  children  o' 
Israel  made  and  the  brazen  serpent  that  the  Lord  commanded 
Moses  to  lift  up  in  the  wilderness." 

"  "Whatever  is  the  woman  at  ?  "  muttered  Andrew  to  him- 
self, over  his  plate. 

"The  serpent  was  only  a  sign  and  a  symbol,  the  for- 
shadowin'  0  what  was  to  come  ;  and  surely  Moses  kenned 
what  he  was  doin'  and  didna  transgress.  Now,  Andrew,  if 
the  Romans — children  o'  wrath  as  they  are — have  a  bit 
cross  or  a  crucifix  only  as  a  sort  0'  remembrance,  there  is 
maybe  no  so  muckle  harm  in  it." 

Andrew  dropped  his  spoon  into  the  broth,  and  sat  bolt 
upright  in  his  chair. 

"Am  I  listenin'  or  drcamin',  woman  ?  What  evil  spirit 
is  it  that  has  put  these  things  into  your  mouth,  and  linked 
\v  wi'  them  whaus  feet  are  set  in  hell?  Are  ye  clean 
daunert,  woman,  that  ye  should  come  as  an  apologist  for 
Bach  folk,  and  tread  the  blood  o'  the  covenant  under  foot  ? 
Nae  won dcr  they  have  their  crucifixes  and  their  picture — 
for  it  is  a  judgment  upon  them  that  they  maun  look  upon 
Him  whom  they  have  pierced,  and  mourn  their  lost  condition. 
And  it  is  this  lassie  that  has  done  it  a',  as  I  said  frae  the 
first.  T was  a  sad  day  for  us  that  she  came  to  Airlie  ;  the 
Man-'  I. as  never  been  itsel'  since  then.  Yet  never  did  I 
think  to  hear  such  words  from  a  woman  well  brought  up  as 
ye  have  been;  and  it  fears  me  to  think  what  will  be  the 
end  o't." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  Leezibeth,  testily,  "  I  only  asked  for 
your  opeenion." 

M  And  my  opeenion  is,"  said  Andrew,  "  that  the  time  is 
Doming  when  ye  will  see  this  woman  in  her  true  colours, 
and  she  will  no  longer  he  a  snare  to  the  feet  o'  them  that 
would  walk  decently  and  uprightly.  Ye  hae  been  lead  awa1 
by  the  tempter,  Leezibeth,  and  the  fair  things  o'  the  world  hae 
been  set  before  ye,  and  the  kingdoms  thereof,  and  your  eyes 

G  2 


84  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

are  blinded.  But  there  will  come  a  day — and  that  soon — 
when  this  Manse  will  see  a  change,  and  her  that  has  entered 
it  will  be  driven  forth  to  seek  another  people.  Dinna  be 
beguiled  in  the  meantime,  Leezibeth.  The  end  is  comin1, 
and  her  pictures  and  her  crucifixes  will  not  save  her  then." 

"  What  do  ye  mean,  Andrew  ?  "  said  his  wife,  who  was 
nearly  in  tears.  "  I  am  sure  the  lassie  has  done  no  wrong. 
I  declare  my  heart  feels  for  her  when  I  see  her  sittin'  by  the 
window,  a'  by  herself,  looking  out  at  naething,  and  a  fair 
ivecht  o'  weariness  and  patience  on  her  face.  If  she  had  a 
mother,  now,  to  look  after  her  and  speak  to  her " 

"  And  how  long  is  it,"  said  Andrew,  "  since  ye  hae  taen 
this  interest  in  her  ?    How  did  she  cast  her  wiles  ower  ye  ?  " 

Leezibeth  did  not  answer.  She  was  thinking  of  the  vague 
and  dreadful  future  which  Andrew  had  been  prophesying. 

u  Let  her  alone — leave  her  to  hersel',"  said  Andrew.  "  I 
warn  ye  against  this  woman,  Leezibeth,  as  I  hae  warned  the 
Minister,  though  he  would  tak  nae  heed,  and  leaves  her  wi' 
a'  her  idolatrous  implements  free  to  work  destruction  in  the 
midst  o'  a  decent  and  God-fearing  house.  Yet  in  time  this 
will  be  changed  ;  and  we  will  have  to  cast  out  the  serpent. 
*  I  will  hedge  up  thy  way  with  thorns,  and  make  a  wall,  that 
she  shall  not  find  her  paths.  And  she  shall  follow  after  her 
lovers,  but  she  shall  not  overtake  them,  and  she  shall  seek 
them,  but  shall  not  find  them.' " 

"  Who  is  that  you  are  talking  about  ?  Is  it  my  cousin  ?  " 
said  the  Whaup,  naughtily,  as  he  suddenly  stood  before  them. 
He  had  come  into  the  kitchen  in  order  to  get  some  glue  for 
a  "  dragon "  which  he  was  making  for  a  younger  brother, 
and  had  heard  the  latter  end  of  Andrew's  bitter  forecast. 

As  for  Leezibeth,  she  had  turned  aside  in  deep  distress. 
Her  newly  awakened  sympathy  for  the  girl  was  rudely 
troubled  by  these  sinister  anticipations  of  her  husband  ; 
and  she  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  them.  But 
Andrew,  who  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his  broth,  was 
looking  up  when  he  saw  the  Whaup  unexpectedly  appear. 
The  old  man's  face,  which  was  severe  enough  as  he  spoke, 
assumed  a  deep  frown  on  his  seeing  his  enemy  ;  he  was 
evidently  annoyed  at  being  "  caught,"  and  yet  determined 
to  brave  it  out. 

"Why,  you  can't  eat  your  dinner  without  stopping  to 


A  HOROSCOPE.  85 

talk  spite  and  scandal !  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  curl  of  his 
lip.  "Can't  you  leave  that  to  women?  And  a  pretty 
Daniel  you  are,  with  your  prophecies,  and  your  judgments, 
and  your  warnings  ! — but  if  you  will  be  a  Daniel,  by 
Jingo  !  I'll  make  this  house  worse  to  you  than  any  den  of 
lions  ever  you  were  in  in  your  life  !  " 

The  Whaup  went  out  and  summoned  a  secret  conclave  of 
his  brothers.    The  Vehmgericht  met  in  the  hay-loft. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIR  PETER  AND  LADY  DRUM. 

Coquette,  sitting  quietly  in  the  general  parlour,  the 
Minister  being  busy  with  his  reading,  heard  voices  in  the 
hall,  and  one  of  them  startled  her.  Indeed,  she  suddenly 
put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  having  felt  a  quick  flutter,  as  of 
pain  ;  and  a  tinge  of  colour  came  to  her  pale  face.  The 
next  moment  Leezibeth  announced  Sir  Peter  and  Lady 
Drum,  and  Lord  Earlshope  ;  and  these  three  entered  the 
room. 

Sir  Peter  was  a  short,  stout,  rosy-cheeked,  and  fair- 
liiiired  man,  who  wore  a  suit  of  light  grey,  and  had  a  big 
diamond  ring  on  his  finger.  There  was  a  pleasant  ex- 
pression in  his  face  ;  a  frolicsome  look  in  his  eyes  ;  and  his 
talk,  which  was  as  often  as  not  a  monologue  addressed  to 
himself,  was  interrupted  by  his  humming  snatches  of  gay 
airs,  addressed  to  the  window,  or  the  fireplace,  or  the 
picture  at  which  he  chanced  to  be  looking.  On  this 
occasion,  however,  he  had  duties  to  perform  ;  he  went 
briskly  forward  to  shake  hands  with  the  Minister  ;  he  was 
introduced  to  Coquette ;  and  then,  and  with  some  merry 
little  remark,  he  led  forward  his  wife  to  the  young  girl. 

Coquette  found  herself  confronted  by  a  most  striking- 
looking  woman — one  who  might  have  sat  for  a  picture  of 
a  threat  lady  of  the  last  century.  Lady  Dram  was  a 
till,  elderly,  upright  person,  with  a  keen  face  which  was 
yet  kindly  in  the  severity  of  its  features,  and  with  a  fine 
Lead  of  grey  hair,  elaborately  arranged.  Lady  Drum  was 
widely  known  in  the  neighbourhood  for  her  inflexible 
judgments  on  people's  conduct,  her  generous  but  scrapu- 


86  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

lously  calculated  aid  to  all  who  were  in  heed,  and  her  skill 
in  medicine,  which  she  loved  to  practise  ;  and  it  was  a 
popular  mystery  how  this  stately  and  imposing  lady  could 
have  married  the  gay  little  gentleman  who  was  now  her 
husband.  Yet  they  agreed  remarkably  well,  and  seemed  to 
have  a  mutual  esteem  for  each  other.  She  bore  with  great 
equanimity  his  perpetual  jokes,  his  ceaseless  and  rambling 
talk,  his  irrelevant  tunes  and  airs  ;  while  he  was  fond  to 
address  her  as  his  "  jewel,"  and  declare  that  she  had  saved 
his  life  twenty  times  with  her  physic.  Of  all  the  families  in 
the  county  the  Drums  were  the  only  people  whom  Lord 
Earlshope  was  ever  known  to  visit ;  and  his  regard  and  liking 
for  the  grave  and  noble-looking  lady  of  Castle  Cawmil  had 
even  led  him  to  permit  himself  to  be  dosed  and  doctored 
upon  occasions.  Sometimes  they  corresponded  ;  and  the 
contents  of  Lady  Drum's  letters  chiefly  consisted  in 
motherly  advice  about  the  use  of  flannel  in  spring  time, 
and  the  great  virtues  of  some  new  herb  she  had  discovered. 
As  for  Sir  Peter,  Earlshope  seldom  saw  him  when  he 
visited  Castle  Cawmil.  Sir  Peter  was  anywhere — every- 
where— but  in  his  own  house.  He  flitted  about  the 
country,  enjoying  himself  wherever  he  went ;  for  the 
number  of  his  friends  was  legion  ;  while  Lady  Drum 
attended  to  her  poultry-yard  and  her  patients  at  home. 

Coquette  found  fixed  upon  her  a  pair  of  severe  and 
scrutinising  eyes  ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  tall,  grey-haired  woman  which  she  could  not 
help  admiring  and  even  liking.  When  she  spoke — which 
she  did  in  a  grave  and  deliberate  fashion,  with  a  consider- 
ably marked  Scotch  accent — her  voice  had  all  the  softness 
which  her  features  lacked. 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  Airlie  a  pleasant  place,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  still  retaining  Coquette's  hand. 

"  Dull — dull — dull,"  said  Sir  Peter,  looking  out  of  the 
window,  and  humming  to  himself.  "  Very  dull — very  dull 
— very  dull.     Ha,  ha  !     Hm,  hm  !     Ha,  ha  !  " 

"And  we  shall  hope  to  see  you  often  at  Castle  Cawmil," 
continued  Lady  Drum. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Coquette,  simply,  but  making  no 
promise. 

Lady  Drum  at  once  turned  to  the  Minister. 


SIR  PETER  AND  LADY  DRUM.  S7 

"  Your  housekeeper  has  been  telling  me  that  your  niece 
is  very  much  in  want  of  a  change.  I  can  see  it.  The  web 
weather  has  kept  her  indoors.  She  wants  to  be  sent  out 
into  the  air,  with  companions  and  amusement;  and  I 
would  even  recommend  a  little  tansy  or,  perhaps,  gentian 
root.  If  she  were  with  me  for  a  week  or  two  I  might  try 
the  Caribbean  cinchona,  which  has  proved  an  excellent 
tonic  within  my  own  experience  ;  but  as  for  horse-chestnut 
bark,  which  some  prefer  to  use,  I  do  not  hold  wi'  that  in 
any  case.  Lord  Earlshope  will  tell  ye,  Mr.  Cassilis,  that 
the  Caribbean  cinchona " 

"Did  me  a  world  of  good,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 
"  Indeed  I  was  quite  ashamed  to  get  well  so  rapidly,  and 
deprive  my  amiable  physician  of  the  chance  of  watching  the 
effects  of  her  cure.  In  fact,  I  got  so  ridiculously  well  that 
I  had  no  occasion  to  drink  any  of  the  coltsfoot  wine  that 
Lady  Drum  was  good  enough  to  send  me.  Shall  I  transfer 
it  to  you,  Miss  Cassilis,  when  you  become  one  of  Lady 
Drum's  patients  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  it — if  it  is  nice,"  said  Coquette. 

Lady  Drum  did  not  like  this  way  of  treating  the  subject, 
especially  as  her  husband  was  moving  about  the  room  from 
place  to  place,  and  humming  a  series  of  reflections  on 
physic  generally,  which  interfered  with  the  dignity  of  the 
situation. 

"  Fine  thing,  physic — grand  thing,  physic — hm  !  hm  ! — 
old  woman  comes  and  gets  her  physic,  and  sixpence; — Inn, 
ha  ! — drinks  the  sixpence,  and  flings  away  the  physic — with 
a  *  God  bless  all  doctors — if  possible.'  Hm,  hm  !  hm,  hm  ! 
ha,  ha  !  Capital  garden  that  of  yours,  Mr.  Cassilis — 
capital — too  much  like  a  wilderness,  perhaps.  Got  the  old 
pony  in  the  stables  yet — old  Bess  with  the  swallow-tail  ? 
Itemember  how  the  Hielandman  thought  the  flicht  o'  a 
swallow  was  like  a  squint  lum  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Earlshope. 

"  Untranslatable — untranslatable,"  carolled  Sir  Peter. 
"'Bekass  it  wass  a  crookit  flue.'  More  untranslatable 
still,  isn't  it  ?    "\\re  must  be  going,  my  lady." 

But  my  lady  had  got  into  a  very  confidential  chat  with 
Coquette,  and  had  even  aired  a  few  French  phrases  to  show 
that  she  had  been  used  to  polite  accomplishments  in  her 


8S  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

youth.  She  had  been  to  Paris,  also  ;  had  seen  the  Place  de 
la  Bastille ;  and  considered  herself  profound  in  the  history 
of  the  capital.  Their  talk,  nevertheless,  was  chiefly  of  Airlie, 
and  of  Coquette's  experiences  there. 

"  I  did  like  the  place  better  when  I  came  here,"  said  the 
girl.  "  Much  better.  Yet,  it  is  pretty,  you  know — when 
there  is  sun,  and  it  is  not  cold.  It  is  always  the  same  thing 
at  Airlie — the  same  place,  the  same  people,  the  same  things 
to  do  each  "day.  That  is  tiresome  when  one  is  indoors  in  the 
rain — when  one  is  out  in  good  days  there  is  variety.  If  you 
will  let  me  visit  you,  I  shall  be  joyous — joyful — no,  I  mean 
I  shall  be  glad  to  visit  you  and  see  you.  And  will  you  come 
to  Airlie  often  ?  I  have  no  lady-friend  in  this  country,  you 
know — only  my  uncle  and  the  boys — and  if  you  will  be 
so  kind  to  come  and  see  me,  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to 
me." 

"  But  I  am  an  old  woman,"  said  Lady  Drum.  "  I  should 
be  a  poor  companion  for  you." 

"  But  I  have  always  lived  with  old  people,"  said  Coquette, 
somewhat  too  bluntly ;  "I  do  like  old  people  better  than 
young." 

Lady  Drum  was  puzzled.  Why  did  this  young  creature 
talk  so  sadly,  and  show  none  of  the  liveliness  and  hope 
natural  to  her  age  ?  Surely,  with  her  graceful  and  well- 
formed  figure,  her  clear  dark  eyes,  and  the  healthy  red  of  her 
lips  that  were  obviously  meant  to  laugh,  she  ought  to  have 
plenty  of  spirit  and  life  ?  Lady  Drum  had  never  seen  the 
true  Coquette— the  Coquette  to  whom  every  day  was  a 
holiday,  and  every  incident  in  it  a  glad  experience  ;  but 
she  half  divined  that  the  pale,  pretty,  dark-eyed  girl  who 
sat  beside  her,  and  who  had  an  ease  of  manner  which  was 
the  perfection  of  simplicity,  was  not  strung  up  to  her  natural 
pitch  of  health  and  enjoyment.  Lady  Drum  had  never 
heard  Coquette  laugh  in  the  open  air,  or  sing  to  herself  in 
the  garden  ;  but  she  had  a  suspicion  that  the  beauty  of  the 
girl's  face  was  paler  than  it  ought  to  be. 

"  Quassia  ! "  said  Lady  Drum  suddenly,  and  Coquette 
looked  startled  ;  but  presently  the  other  said — "  No.  We 
must  try  something  else  first.  Castle  Cawmil  would  be 
tiresome  just  now,  with  an  old  woman  like  me  in  it.  By 
and  by,  my  lassie,  you  must  come  and  see  me  when  I  have 


SIR  PETER  AND  LADY  DRUM.  89 

got  together  some  young  folks  ;  and  we  shall  have  half  the 
gentlemen  in  Ayrshire  fighting  for  the  first  quadrille." 

"  Is  there  dancing  at  your  house  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with 
interest. 

"  Dancing  !  Yes,  as  much  dancing  as  young  lassocks 
like  you  should  have — wha  will  not  be  persuaded  to  take 
any  other  sort  o'  exercise." 

"  I  was  told  it  was  evil  here,"  said  Coquette,  remember- 
ing certain  of  Leezibeth's  orations. 

"  Evil !  evil !  "  said  Lady  Drum.  "  If  there  was  much 
evil  in  it,  it  wouldna  set  its  foot  within  my  doors.  But 
then,  ye  see,  Miss  Cassilis,  this  is  a  minister's  house,  and  a 
minister  must  be  discreet— no  to  give  offence,  as  it  were." 

She  turned  to  Lord  Earlshope,  who  had  been  conversing 
with  the  Minister.  "Lord  Earlshope,  do  ye  mind  that  you 
pressed  me  to  make  use  of  your  yacht  when  occasion 
suited  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  Earlshope.  "  She  is  quite  at 
your  service — always  ;  and  just  at  present  she  is  in  capital 
cruising  order.  Do  you  propose  to  take  Miss  Cassilis  for  a 
run  up  some  of  the  lochs  ?  " 

"Indeed,  it  was  the  very  thing  I  was  thinking  of,"  said 
Lady  Drum. 

"  Then  you  have  only  to  drive  to  Ardrossan  any  day  you 
choo3e,  and  give  Maxwell  his  sailing  orders.  He  is  a  steady 
old  fellow,  and  will  take  every  care  of  you." 

Coquette  listened  mutely,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground.  Lord  Earlshope,  then,  proposed  that  she  and  Lady 
Drum  should  go  by  themselves  ? — she  did  not  think  it  very 
civil. 

"  I  had  some  notion  of  asking  Mr.  Cassilis  to  form  a  pirty 
and  go  for  a  short  cruise,  but  I  dismissed  it  as  chimerical. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  more  successful  if  you  try." 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  business-like  air, 
"  how  many  you  can  take  on  board." 

"  Why,  half  the  population  of  Airlje,  or  thereabouts.  But 
there  is  one  very  grand  state-room  which  you  ladies  could 
share  between  you  ;  and  as  for  your  gentlemen  friends,  you 
might  ask  as  many  as  had  been  accustomed  to  the  exigencies 
of  yachts — myself  among  the  number,  I  hope.  As  for  Sir 
Peter " 


90  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  gaily.  "  No  yachting  for 
me — sleeping  in  a  hole — washing  out  of  a  tea-cup — wet  to 
the  skin  all  day — ha,  ha  !  hm,  hm  !  ha,  ha  !  No  yachting 
for  me — off  to  Peebles  on  Tuesday — then  back  to  Edinburgh 
the  week  after — my  lady  may  go  if  she  likes." 

"  Mr.  Cassilis,  may  we  reckon  on  you  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum, 
severely  ignoring  her  husband's  volatility.  "  Your  niece 
demands  some  change  of  the  kind  ;  and  I  have  entered 
into  a  contract  long  ago  with  Lord  Earlshope  about  the 
yacht." 

"  You  need  not  be  frightened  by  what  Sir  Peter  says," 
observed  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  smile.  "  On  board  a  sixty- 
ton  yacht  you  are  not  put  to  such  dreadful  inconveniences. 
Shall  I  add  my  entreaties  to  those  of  Lady  Drum  ?  If  you 
could  get  away  from  your  duties  for  a  week  or  two,  it  would 
be  a  pleasant  holiday  at  this  season  ;  and,  if  you  like,  I  will 
go  with  you  for  a  few  days,  to  see  you  all  comfortably 
settled." 

There  was  positively  a  blush  on  the  pale  grey  face  of  the 
Minister.  The  notion  of  taking  a  holiday  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  pleasure  was  quite  startling  to  him — had,  in  fact, 
something  uncanny  about  it.  If  the  proposal,  indeed,  had 
not  been  made  in  the  first  instance  by  Lady  Drum — whose 
decision  as  to  matters  of  propriety  was  law  throughout  the 
district — he  would  not  even  have  considered  it  for  a 
moment. 

"  1  cannot  give  an  answer  out-of-hand,"  he  said,  gravely, 
and  yet  with  some  hesitation.  "  Doubtless  it  is  a  tempting 
and  a  kind  offer  ;  but  there  are  other  obligations  binding  on 
us  than  our  own  wishes " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  have  you  not 
mentioned  to  me  that  you  greatly  hoped  for  some  opportunity 
of  giving  young  Mr.  M'Alister  your  pulpit  for  the  day — 
an  honour  that  he  has  fairly  set  his  heart  on  ?  " 

"  But  I  should  like  to  be  present  to  witness  his  trial,"  said 
the  Minister,  fighting  against  himself. 

"Ye  may  trust  him — ye  may  trust  him,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
decisively.  "He  is  as  safe  as  an  auld  horse  with  blinders 
on.  No  fear  o'  him  alarming  the  congregation  wi'  new 
doctrine — he  hasna  spunk  enough  to  be  dangerous." 

This  somewhat  doubtful  testimony  to  the   intellectual 


SIR  PETER  AND  LADY  DRUM.  91 

qualifications  of  the  young  man  carried  some  weight,  evi- 
dently, and  Mr.  Cassilis  then  turned  to  his  niece. 

"  Catherine,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  you  have  heard  Lady 
Drum's  proposal — would  it  please  you  to  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  much,"  said  Coquette, "  if — if  my  cousin  could 
also  go." 

The  Minister  stared  :  how  had  the  Whaup  come  to  be  of 
such  consequence  ? 

11  Do  you  mean  my  friend  Tom  ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshopc. 
"  Why,  of  course  he  can  go.  There  is  nothing  to  hinder 
him." 

Coquette  was  very  grateful ;  and  though  she  did  not  put 
her  gratitude  into  words,  there  was  a  brighter  look  on  her 
face  than  had  been  there  for  many  a  day.  The  Minister 
said  he  would  consider  the  matter  ;  and — if  he  saw  that  his 
duties  to  his  parishioners  would  not  suffer — he  hoped  to  be 
able  to  take  his  niece  on  this  voyage  of  health. 

When  the  visitors  had  gone,  Coquette  went  outside  to  look 
for  the  Whaup.  She  found  him  in  the  garden — inclined  to 
resume  his  attitude  of  hostility  on  account  of  this  appearance 
of  Earlshope  at  the  Manse. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  do  wish  to  speak  to  you — to  ask 
why  you  avoid  me — when  you  were  my  good  companion  for 
a  long  time.     Why  should  we  quarrel  ?  " 

"  Quarrel !  "  said  the  Whaup — as  if  he  scorned  the  idea  of 
his  bothering  himself  to  quarrel  with  anybody — "I  haven't 
quarrelled  ;  I  haven't  time  to  quarrel.  But  I  suppose  you 
are  come  to  be  penitent  and  all  that ;  and  probably  you  will 
cry.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  cry  ;  so  I'll  make  friends  at 
once  if  you  like." 

"  Is  that  how  you  do  make  friends  in  Scotland  ?  "  said 
Coquette,  with  a  laugh  in  her  eyes, — "  standing  a  yard  off — 
looking  fierce — and  speaking  harsh." 

"Oh,  I  will  kiss  you,  if  you  like,"  said  the  Whaup, 
bluntly,  and  he  advanced  for  that  purpose. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  least  change  of  manner — 
and  yet  that  delicate  alteration  in  her  tone  and  look 
protected  her  as  though  with  a  wall  of  iron.  "  I  did  not 
ask  you.  But  I  have  something  to  say  of  very  much 
importance — oh  !  such  great  importance  !  And  I  wish  you 
to  be  kind  as  you  once  were — but  I  am  afraid  on  this  day. 


92  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

It  is  too  cold — too  dull.  On  a  clear  day  you  would  say 
yes." 

"  Don't  talk  so  much,  but  tell  me  what  it  is,"  said  the 
Whaup.  He  was  warding  off,  rudely,  the  insidious  attacks 
of  his  too  pretty  cousin. 

"  It  is  proposed  we  all  go  with  Lord  Earlshope's  yacht  on 
a  long  voyage  round  the  Islands — your  papa  and  Lady 
Drum,  and  me,  too  ;  and  it  depends  if  you  will  go  that  I 
will  go." 

"  I  go  !  "  said  the  "Whaup,  with  a  burst  of  laughter.  "  In 
Earlshope's  yacht !     You  must  be  mad  !  " 

"  If  you  do  not  go,  I  will  not  go,"  said  Coquette,  simply. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  you  shouldn't  go,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Coquette,  turning  away  towards  the 
house. 

The  "VVhaup  looked  after  her  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
followed  her. 

"  Look  here — what  do  you  want  to  go  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  pleasurable — the  amusement,  the 
going  away  from  this  place  a  few  days — the  whole  of  us 
together.     But  I  am  not  anxious — I  can  stay  at  home." 

"  Why  can't  you  go  without  me  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  wanted  you  for  a  companion,"  said  Coquette,  looking 
down.  "There  will  be  nobody  but  your  papa  and  Lady 
Drum — Lord  Earlshope  only  comes  for  a  day  or  two,  to  see 
us  off." 

He  looked  at  her  downcast  face  in  a  scrutinising  way — he 
was  not  sure  about  her. 

"  You  know,  I  don't  believe  in  you  as  I  did  at  one  time. 
People  who  deceive  you  once  will  deceive  you  again,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  with  an  angry  glance ;  and  bitter  tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  she  said,  indignantly.  "  You 
are  too  hard — you  have  no  mercy — you  expect  everyone  to 
be  as  rude  as  yourself.  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  it  is  no 
matter  to  me  ;  I  can  believe  myself — that  is  enough." 

With  these  words,  she  was  again  turning  proudly  away, 
when  he  caught  her  by  the  hand  and  stopped  her. 

"  You  are  a  very  peculiar  young  woman,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  always  firing  off  somehow  or  other — always  very  delighted 
or  else  very  miserable.    Why  don't  you  take  things  coolly,  as 


SIR  PETER  AND  LADY  DRUM.  93 

I  do  ?  I  don't  say  you're  very  bad  because  you  went  in  for 
little  trifling  useless  bits  of  deceit.  I  suppose  every  woman 
does  that — it's  their  nature,  and  it's  no  use  grumbling.  If 
you  had  any  sense,  you'd  dry  your  eyes,  get  something  on 
your  head,  and  come  and  see  us  dig  up  a  bees'  nest  that  I 
have  found." 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  that,"  she  said,  adding  timidly — "  and 
ftbout  the  yacht — I  am  not  to  go  ?" 

He  looked  in  her  eyes  just  then  ;  and,  oddly  enough,  that 
glance  somehow  made  him  aware  that  he  was  holding  her 
hand — a  little,  white  hand,  that  had  a  couple  of  slender 
rings  on  one  of  the  fingers.  He  dropped  the  hand  at  once  ; 
was  uncomfortable  and  shy  for  a  moment ;  and  then  said 
(lcs])erately,  "  Yes,  I  will  go." 

There  was  a  flush  of  colour  and  gladness  passed  over  the 
pale  face  ;  and  she  lifted  his  hand  suddenly  and  pressed  it 
to  her  lips.  Then  she  ran  into  the  house,  and  presently 
reappeared  with  her  hat  and  some  loose  white  thing  that  she 
hurriedly  flung  round  her  neck.  Her  eyes  were  so  bright 
and  joyous  that  the  Whaup  looked  at  her  with  amazement. 

In  a  secret  corner  the  Whaup  found  his  brothers,  armed 
with  large  boughs.  At  once  all  set  out  for  the  moor  where 
the  bees'  nest  had  been  discovered  ;  and  the  Whaup  revealed 
to  Coquette  that  his ,  object  in  storming  the  nest  was  not 
merely  to  secure  the  little  underground  nuts  of  honey.  A 
deed  of  vengeance  had  to  be  accomplished,  and  the  captured 

-  were  to  aid  in  the  task. 

Now,  Sir  Peter  and  Lady  Drum  were  returning  to  Earls- 
hope  for  luncheon  ;  but  they  went  out  of  their  way  to  call 
at  a  certain  farm,  the  dairy-maid  there  being  under  her 
lady  si  lip's  treatment.  It  was  when  they  had  resumed  their 
route,  and  were  driving  along  the  high  moorland  road,  that 
they  chanced  to  see  in  the  distance  a  small  procession  of 
ligiuvs,  carrying  branches  of  trees, 

"Why  yonder  is  Coquette  running  and  laughing  !  "  said 
Lord  Earlshope. 

"Illuming  and  laughing?"  said  Lady  Drum.  "Has 
that  dark-eyed  little  witch  been  cheating  me  ?  " 


94  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH, 

CHAPTER  XV. 

A  DANGEROUS  ADVENTURE. 

"  "What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  the  "Whaup  to 
Coquette.  "  For  a  few  minutes  you  are  alive,  and  in  the 
world  ;  and  the  next  minute  you  are  staring  over  there  at  the 
sea,  as  if  you  could  look  through  the  Arran  hills,  and  find 
something  miles  and  miles  away  on  the  other  side.". 

Coquette  started,  and  recalled  herself  ;  but  there  was  no 
tinge  of  embarrassment  on  the  pale,  clear,  foreign  face.  She 
said — 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  your  papa  would  let  us  go  with 
Lady  Drum." 

"  Then  he  has  not  promised  to  go  ?  "  said  the  Whaup 
sharply. 

The  dark  eyes  of  Coquette  began  to  look  afraid. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  that  women 
will  not  tell  you  all  the  truth  at  once.  They  must  keep 
back  things,  and  make  mysteries,  and  try  to  deceive  you. 
Why  didn't  you  say  to  me — '  There  is  a  talk  of  our  going  a 
trip  in  Earlshope's  yacht.  Will  you  come,  if  we  are  allowed 
to  go  ? ' — instead  of  hinting  that  you  were  all  fixed  on 
going,  and  I  might  as  well  join  you  ?  Well,  there,  I  am 
not  going  to  say  another  word.  You  can't  help  it.  You 
are  only  a  woman." 

"  And  you  are  only  a  boy,"  she  said,  looking  up  to  the  tall, 
handsome  lad  beside  her, — "  very  kind,  and  very  generous, 
and  very  stupid." 

"  I  am  older  than  you,  at  least,"  said  the  Whaup,  who  did 
not  like  being  called  a  boy.  "  And,  if  it  was  any  use,  I'd  give 
you  the  advice  to  drop  these  little  tricks,  and  be  honest." 

"If  my  honesty  were  equal  to  your  rudeness,  I  should 
please  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  smile.  She  was  dis- 
inclined just  then  to  take  umbrage. 

"  It  will  be  a  bold  thing  for  my  father  to  go  away  any- 
where in  the  company  of  Lord  Earlshope,"  observed  the 
Whaup.  "  It  will  be  only  his  regard  for  your  health  that 
will  force  him." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with  a  touch  of  asperity. 


A  DANGEROUS  ADVENTURE.  95 

"  Well,  you  know  the  reputation  he  has  in  the  parish," 
remarked  the  Whaup,  coolly.  "  Perhaps  everybody  is  wrong  ; 
but,  at  all  events,  Earlshope  gives  them  every  reason  to 
think  ill  of  him.  He  never  comes  to  church  ;  he  walks 
about  on  Sundays  with  his  dogs  ;  or  else  he  reads  novels,  and 
smokes  cigars.  If  I  go  with  you,  it  is  not  to  be  friends  with 
him  ;  it  is  to  protect  you.  Do  you  know,  either  he  is  mad 
or  one  of  these  novels  has  turned  his  head  ;  for  he  has  got 
■  place  built  at  the  end  of  the  grounds  like  a  wizard's  cave, 
with  trickling  water  running  over  a  lot  of  rocks  ;  and  he 
sits  there  at  night  to  read,  and  in  the  rocks  he  has  blue  lights, 
that  make  the  place  look  as  if  it  was  haunted." 

"  That  is  stuff  and  humbug,"  said  Coquette. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  do  mean  it  is  nonsense,  if  that  is  better.  It  is  an  old 
woman's  story  of  the  village — it  is  a  fable — it  is  foolish." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  But  if  you 
have  the  courage  to  slip  out  of  the  house  to-night  when  it  is 
dark,  and  run  all  the  way  there,  I  will  take  you  in  by  an 
opening  that  I  know,  and  show  you  the  place." 

"  Suppose  he  were  there  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"No  fear.     The  nights  are  getting  too  cold.    Will  you 

go?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Coquette. 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  spot  of  the  moor 
where  the  Whaup  had  discovered  the  bees'  nest.  He  pointed 
out  to  his  companion  a  small  hole  in  a  piece  of  mossy  ground 
which  was  not  covered  by  the  heather  ;  and  as  she  looked  at 
it,  a  large  humble-bee  came  crawling  out,  paused  for  a 
second,  and  then  flew  away  with  a  low  buzzing  noise  into 
the  distance.  The  Whaup  threw  off  his  jacket,  and  took  his 
spade  in  hand. 

"  Here,"  said  he  to  Coquette,  "  protect  yourself  with  this 
branch.     Knock  them  down  when  they  come  near  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  said.  "  They  will  not  harm  me — I  am  not 
harming  them." 

"That  may  be  the  case  wi'  bees  in  France,"  observed  the 
Whaup,  disdainfully,  "  where  they've  got  line  manners  ;  but 
ye'll  find  Scotch  bees  are  different." 

So  he  ordered  one  of  the  boys  to  stand  by  Coquette  and 
beat  down  any  bees  that  might  come  her  way ;  threatening 


96  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

him  with  pains  and  penalties  dire  if  one  should  touch  her. 
Then  he  struck  the  spade  into  the  ground  near  the  entrance 
to  the  nest,  and  raised  a  large  "  divot."  The  channel  to  the 
subterranean  caves  was  now  laid  bare  ;  and  one  or  two  bees 
that  had  been  coming  up  were  seen  extricating  themselves 
from  the  loose  earth.  These  Dougal  straightway  laid  hold 
of,  by  means  of  his  handkerchief,  and  popped  them  into  a 
large  paper  bag  which  he  held. 

"  What  for  you  put  them  in  a  bag  ?  "  said  Coquette  ;  at 
which  all  the  boys  burst  out  laughing.  But  they  did  not 
tell  her  the  secret. 

The  excitement  of  this  work  of  destruction  now  began. 
Out  came  the  bees  in  dozens,  buzzing  up  from  the  ruddy 
earth  only  to  be  struck  down  by  great  branches  of  alder 
borne  by  the  boys  ;  while  the  intrepid  Dougal,  with  his  face 
and  hands  quite  unguarded,  stood  over  the  hole,  and  picked 
up  whichever  of  them  looked  only  stunned.  It  was  a 
dangerous  occupation  ;  for  those  inside  the  bag  which  had 
partially  recovered  began  to  hum  their  discontent,  and  tried 
to  escape  by  the  small  opening  which  admitted  their  com- 
panions in  misfortune.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  other  boys 
assisted,  although  they  had  sufficient  occupation  for  them- 
selves in  beating  back  the  winged  host  that  flew  round  and 
round  their  ears. 

Suddenly  "VVattie  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  set  off  running 
as  hard  as  he  could.  His  companions  perceived  to  their 
dismay  that  about  twenty  or  thirty  bees  had  clustered  round 
his  head,  and  were  now  following  him,  and  hovering  over 
him  as  he  ran. 

"  He's  got  the  queen  bee  on  his  bonnet,"  said  the  Whaup. 
"  Throw  down  your  bonnet — ye  idiot ! — throw  down  your 
bonnet !  " 

Wattie  was  still  within  hearing,  and  had  sufficient  nerve 
left  him  to  do  as  he  was  bid.  He  snatched  at  his  cap, 
pitched  it  on  the  heather,  and  again  made  off  ;  but  it  was 
soon  apparent  that  he  was  out  of  danger.  The  bees  had  lit 
upon  the  cap  ;  and  from  a  safe  distance  he  stood  and  re- 
garded it  with  rather  a  rueful  countenance. 

The  issue  of  bees  had  ceased.  The  boys  laid  down  their 
branches,  and  began  to  dig  out  with  their  fingers,  from 
among  the  red  and  sandy  earth,  the  small  brown  combs  of 


A  DANGEROUS  ADVENTURE.  97 

honey,  which  were  speedily  transferred,  sand  and  all,  to  their 
mouth.  The  Whaup,  of  course,  would  not  condescend  to 
such  vulgar  and  childish  practices  ;  but  he  produced  a  pen- 
knife, and  extracted  some  honey  from  one  of  the  combs, 
which  Coquette  was  pleased  to  taste. 

"  What  for  you  have  bees  in  the  bag  ?  "  said  Coquette, 
as  they  prepared  to  go  home — a  simultaneous  charge  of 
branches  having  cleared  Wattie's  cap. 

"I  told  you,"  said  the  Whaup,  "there  was  a  deed  of 
vengeance  to  be  done.  In  the  stable  there  is  a  bag  of  corn, 
which  Andrew  opens  twice  a  day  to  get  some  for  the  pony. 
We  are  going  to  put  the  bees  in  the  bag — I  suppose  there's 
mar  a  hundred  of  them.  When  Andrew  plunges  his  hand 
into  the  bag " 

"  0  you  wicked  boy  !  "  cried  Coquette. 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  it."  said  the  Whaup. 

"I?" 

"I  heard  him  calling  ye  all  sorts  o'  names  out  of  the 
Bible — Satan  quoting  Scripture,  you  see — and  I  have  warned 
him  before  ;  and  now  he'll  get  it." 

"  The  bees,  they  will  kill  him,"  said  Coquette. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  retorted  the  Whaup ;  "  he  is  a 
mi  i  sauce." 

"  But  what  is  that  on  your  hand — that  is  a  sting,  is  it 
not  ? "  she  said,  looking  at  a  considerable  swelling,  which 
was  visible  on  the  Whaup's  forefinger. 

"Oh,  one  sting  is  nothing,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "unless 
it's  a  wasp  or  a  hornet.  Did  you  ever  burn  out  a  nest  of 
hornets  ?     If  you  haven't,  don't  try." 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  simply,  "  I'm  not  such  a  gowk." 

"Well,  that  is  pretty  English!"  observed  the  Whaup, 
with  a  stare. 

"  Isn't  it  right  ?  I  did  hear  you  say  it  yesterday," 
remarked  Coquette,  without  any  notion  that  she  was  turning 
the  tables  on  her  critic. 

So  they  drew  near  home  again  ;  and  the  Whaup  fancied  a 
shade  came  over  his  companion's  face  as  they  approached 
the  Manse.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dull,  grey  day,  which  made 
the  old-fashioned  little  place  look  dull  and  solitary — that 
made  the  moor  look  unusually  bleak,  and  the  long  stretch  of 
country  sombre  and  sad. 

H 


c;8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  tired,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Tired  ?  No,"  she  said,  with  a  certain  languor.  "  Do 
you  think  your  papa  will  take  us  away  from  here  for  a  little 
while  ? " 

"  How  you  harp  on  that  yacht !  "  rejoined  the  "Whaup, 
good-naturedly.  "  I  must  go  and  persuade  my  father  on 
your  behalf,  I  think." 

"  Will  you  do  that  ?  "  she  said,  with  eagerness. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  just  now.  Isn't  he  there  in  the 
garden  ?  I  hear  him  talking.  Oh,  it  is  the  Schoolmaster, 
who  is  delivering  a  lecture.  Now,  I  will  wager  he  is  talking 
about  you." 

"  About  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  don't  you  know  you  are  a  dangerous  character  to 
the  whole  village  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  says  about  me,"  said 
Coquette,  proudly,  advancing  towards  the  wall  which 
surrounded  the  garden. 

"  But  not  that  way,"  said  the  Whaup,  taking  her  hand 
and  leading  her  off.  "  If  you  wish  to  know,  you  mustn't 
hide  and  listen — although  I  suppose  that  is  a  woman's  way. 
You  go  into  the  Manse — I  will  go  into  the  garden  and  bring 
you  word  what  the  new  ground  of  complaint  is." 

Leaving  Coquette,  therefore,  the  Whaup  went  round  the 
house,  and  boldly  walked  up  to  the  place  where  Mr.  Gillespie 
and  the  Minister  stood  together. 

"  It  is  Earlshope  who  is  catching  it  this  time,"  said  the 
Whaup  to  himself,  overhearing  the  name. 

His  father  looked  with  some  surprise  on  the  approach  of 
his  eldest  son — who  had  rather  a  pugnacious  look  on  his 
face,  by  the  way  ;  but  the  Schoolmaster  was  too  intent  upon 
his  choice  phrases  to  heed. 

"...  than  which,  sir,  nothing  could  be  more  deplorable, 
or  mortifying,  as  I  may  say,"  observed  Mr.  Gillespie.  "  But 
I  would  give  every  man  the  due  of  his  actions  ;  for, 
although  works  are  not  in  themselves  saving,  they  may 
be  a  sign — or,  as  some  would  term  it,  a  symptom — of  the 
presence  o'  grace,  even  among  the  Gentiles  who  know  not 
the  law,  yet  do  the  things  that  are  written  or  inscribed  in 
the  law." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Gillespie  I "  said  the  Minister,  with  an 


A  DANGEROUS  ADVENTURE.  99 

impatient  twitch  at  his  bunch  of  seals  :  "  but  ye  said  ye  had 
(•..me  to  tell  me " 

"  Yes,  sir,  to  inform  ye  of  a  circumstance  which  deserves, 
or  is  entitled  to,  some  remark.  I  have  been  made  the 
means — or,  1  may  say,  the  humble  instrument — of  conveying 
to  the  people  of  this  parish  no  less  a  sum  than  one  hundred 
pounds  sterling,  to  be  expended,  sir,  .as  those  who  have 
authority  among  us  may  direct,  for  the  good — or  benefit — of 
such  as  are — such  as  are — such  as  are,  in  fact,  here.  Ware 
it — or  as  I  ought  to  say — expend  it  as  we  best  may  on  the 
educational  or  worldly  wants  of  the  parish,  it  is  all  the  same  ; 
and  while  I  wTould  observe,  sir,  that  the  money  cannot 
heighten  in  value  the  services  which  you  give — or  rather 
render  to  this  parish — it  being  your  duty,  as  I  may  express 
it,  to  expound  the  prophecies  and  dig  up  spiritual  gold  and 
silver  for  them  that  are  of  Zion,  I  would  take  your  advice 
wi1  all  humility  as  to  how  this  sum  is  to  be  granted  to,  or 
bestowed  upon,  the  parish." 

Mr.  Gillespie  paused,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  been 
up  to  the  occasion.  He  raised  his  large  spectacles  towards 
the  Minister's  face,  and  proudly  awaited  the  reply. 

"  Where  got  ye  this  money  ?  "  said  the  Minister. 

"  Sir,  from  Lord  Earlshope— some  three  days  ago,  with  a 
letter  dated  from  some  place  in  the  north,  in  which  his  lord- 
ship was  pleased  to  say  that  it  was  but  a  whim  of  his.  A 
noble  and  a  praiseworthy  whim,  said  I  to  Mrs.  Gillespie,  on 
iving  the  money,  for  his  lordship,  according  to  general 
report,  or,  as  I  might  say,  rumour,  is  a  poor  man  for  one  in 
his  station  ;  and  as  I  would  argue  from  facts,  Mr.  Cassilis, 
rather  than  from  idle  hearsay,  I  am  bold  to  observe  that 
there  are  in  this  very  parish  those  who  would  look  black 
at  his  Lordship,  and  yet  no  bestow  a  bawbee  on  the  relief 
o1  the  poor.  I  wouldna,  sir,  cast — or,  in  other  words,  fling — 
the  first  stone  ;  and  if  some  would  do  as  they  see  Lord 
Earlshope  do,  I  am  thinking,  sir,  they  would  not — they 
would  not  do — as — as,  in  fact,  they  do  do." 

Feeling  that  his  eloquence  was  beginning  to  halt,  the 
Schoolmaster  pulled  out  the  identical  letter  and  cheque 
which  had  effected  so  extraordinary  a  change  in  his  senti- 
ments towards  the  owner  of  Earlshope.  These  he  handed  to 
Mr.  Cassilis,  who  took  them  and  scanned  them  with  equal 

H  2 


Ida  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtt. 

surprise  and  pleasure.  The  Minister  even  hinted  that  since 
his  lordship  was  so  well-disposed  to  the  parish,  and 
apparently  inclined  to  make  up  for  past  forgetfulness,  it 
would  be  unbecoming  of  the  parish  not  to  meet  his  advances 
in  a  similar  friendly  spirit. 

"  Precisely  and  exactly  as  I  observed  to  Mrs.  Gillespie  this 
morning,  sir,  not  ten  minutes — nay,  when  I  recollect,  not 
above  five  minutes — indeed,  I  am  sure  three  minutes  could 
not  have  elapsed — after  the  reading  of  the  letter,  or  com- 
munication I  might  call  it,  seeing  what  it  holds.  And  Mrs. 
Gillespie,  sir,  made  an  observation  couched  in  homely 
phrase — yet  pertaining,  or,  as  I  might  say,  bearing  upon  this 
point.  She  remarked  that  the  test  of  a  man's  fair  words  was 
when  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket." 

"  It  is  sometimes  so,"  said  the  Minister  ;  adding,  with  a 
sly  glance  at  the  Schoolmaster,  "  perhaps,  after  all,  Mr. 
Gillespie,  when  my  parishioners  hear  of  Lord  Earlshope's 
generosity,  they  will  not  wonder  at  my  receiving  him  at  the 
Manse,  nor  yet  will  they  object  to  his  speaking  to  my  niece." 

The  Schoolmaster  looked  rather  uncomfortable  ;  and  tho 
Whaup,  behind  his  back,  performed  some  derisive  and 
delighted  antics  of  a  vulgar  nature. 

"  I  maun  e'en  take  a  man  as  I  find  him,  Mr.  Cassilis," 
said  the  Schoolmaster,  forgetting  his  English  in  the  warmth 
of  his  self-defence.  "  If  he  alters  for  the  better,  what  for 
should  I  stick  to  my  old  opinion,  like  a  flee  to  the  wa'  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  Minister  ;  "  but  sometimes 
it  is  our  judgment  that  is  mistaken  in  the  first  case,  and  it 
behoves  us  to  be  cautious  and  charitable." 

"  No  man  ever  accused  me  o'  being  without  charity,  in 
moderation— in  moderation,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  his 
spectacles  glaring  fiercely.  "  But  I  am  no  for  that  charity 
that  lets  ye  be  led  by  the  nose.  I  have  my  own  opeenions — 
charity  is  a  good  thing — a  very  good  thing — but  it  needna 
make  a  fool  o'  ye,  and  make  people  believe  that  ye  are  as 
blind  as  Eli.  No,  sir,  wi'  due  deference  to  you,  I  still 
consider  Lord  Earlshope  to  be " 

In  his  excitement  the  Schoolmaster  had  unconsciously 
unfolded  the  cheque  he  held  in  his  hands  ;  and  he  now 
suddenly  found  himself  looking  at  it.  He  did  not  finish  the 
sentence.     He  waved  his  hand,  as  though  to  say — '  These 


A  DANGEROUS  ADVENTURE.  101 

bygones  ;  I  was  right,  but  it  is  no  matter  ;  and  Lord 
Earlshope  has  mended." 

"  And  what  do  ye  propose  to  do  with  the  money  ? — not 
that  there  will  be  any  difficulty  in  finding  suitable  directions," 
said  the  Minister. 

"  That,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster,  with  grave  importance, 
"is  a  matter  for  serious — and,  I  may  add,  patient — con- 
sideration, in  which,  sir,  I  would  earnestly  desire  your 
assistance  and  advice.  In  the  meantime,  it  is  but  fitting 
(such  is  my  humble  opeenion)  that  acknowledgment  of  his 
lordship's  bounty  should  be  made — and  that  not  in  a 
formal  manner,  but  in  a  friendly — a  conciliatory  manner,  as 
I  may  say,  in  which  I  will  show  his  lordship  that  we  of  this 
parish  recognise,  appreciate,  and  commend  these  approaches 
— or  overtures  they  might,  I  think,  be  properly  called,  on 
his  part  ;  and  who  knows,  sir,  but  that  encouragement  of 
tli is  kind  might  have  the  effect  of  stimulating  or  exciting 
his  lordship  to  renew — I  may  say,  in  short,  to  repeat — these 
attentions  of  a  generous  nature " 

Mr.  Gillespie  stopped  here,  not  sure  whether  he  had  got  to 
the  end  of  his  sentence  or  not.     He  then  continued — 

"  I  hope,  sir,  in  your  capacity  of  private  friend  of  the  young 
nobleman,  and  as  public  and  spiritual  overseer  of  this  parish, 
you  will  convey  to  him  our  sense  of  what  he  has  done  ;  and 
if  you  could  bring  him  and  the  parish  closer  together " 

"At  this  present  moment,  on  the  contrary,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  hesitating  smile,  "  Lord  Earlshope  proposes 
to  carry  me  away  from  the  parish.  I  have  received  an 
invite,  with  some  members  of  my  household,  to  go  on  a 
small  voyage  in  his  lordship's  yacht,  Lady  Drum  being  the 
instigator  of  the  project,  as  I  believe." 

The  spectacles  of  the  Schoolmaster  seemed  to  wax  bigger. 

"  How  do  you  think  the  parish  would  receive  the  proposal  ?  " 
asked  the  Minister,  rather  timidly. 

"  I  will  make  it  my  business  to  ascertain,"  replied  the 
Schoolmaster,  with  an  air  of  authority.  "Nay,  further, 
Mr.  Cassilis,  I  will  even  go  the  length  of  advising  your 
puishioners  to  acquiesce.  Why,  sir,  it  is  their  duty.  Lord 
Earlshope,  Mr.  Cassilis,  is  a  man  to  be  encouraged — he  must 
be  encouraged." 

This  was  all  that  was  wanted  to  confirm  the  Minister's 


io2  A  bA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

decision.  He  had  for  some  time  back  seen  fit  to  abandon 
the  suspicions  that  had  been  suggested  by  his  meeting 
Lord  Earlshope  and  Coquette  on  the  moor ;  and  the  only 
question  now  was  whether  Coquette's  health  would  be  greatly 
benefited  by  his  accepting  the  invitation. 

The  Whaup  made  off  at  this  moment,  and  went  to 
Coquette. 

"  You  owe  Gillespie  a  good  turn  for  once,"  said  he  to  her. 
"  The  old  fool  has  persuaded  my  father  to  go." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COQUETTE  LEAVES  AIRLIE. 

How  brightly  shone  the  sun  on  the  welcome  morning  of 
their  departure  ! — when  Coquette,  as  she  looked  out  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  fair  blue  sea  and  the  distant  hills  of  Arran, 
could  scarce  take  time  to  curb  the  wildness  of  her  dark  hair. 
Already  the  open  window  let  her  drink  in  the  fresh  morning 
breeze  ;  she  felt  the  warmth  of  the  sun  on  her  cheek. 
Generally,  at  her  toilette,  she  sang  careless  snatches  of  French 
songs,  or  even  endeavoured  to  imitate  the  Whaup's  whistling 
of  a  Highland  reel ;  but  on  this  morning  she  was  far  too 
excited  for  any  such  amusements.  The  face  that  had  been 
getting  tired  and  wan  of  late  was  now  flushed  with  happi- 
ness ;  and  when  at  last  she  came  running  down-stairs,  and 
out  into  the  garden — her  white  dress  fluttering  in  the  sun, 
and  her  hair  getting  rather  the  better  of  the  dark  blue  band 
interwoven  with  it — she  fairly  overwhelmed  the  boys  with 
her  demonstrations  of  affection  and  kindness. 

The  Whaup's  brothers  were  practical  young  persons  ;  and, 
though  they  still  regarded  this  foreigner  and  Catholic  as  a 
dangerous  companion — as  somebody  who  had  to  be  ap- 
proached with  caution — they  had  discovered,  at  an  early 
period,  that  certain  gold  coins  of  French  origin  could  be 
transformed  at  Ardrossan  into  an  honest  and  respectable 
mintage.  The  amount  of  pocket-money  which  the  reckless 
young  woman  lavished  upon  her  cousins  (excepting  the 
Whaup,  of  course,)  was  appalling  ;  nor  could  the  observant 
Leezibeth  make  out  whence  came  all  the  new  pocket-knives, 
tools,  and  similar  boyish  luxuries  which  she  discovered  about 


COQUETTE  LEA  VES  AIRLIE.  103 

the  house.  The  boys  themselves  had  an  uneasy  impression 
that  there  was  something  desperately  wicked  in  having  so 
much  money  ;  and,  indeed,  had  many  private  conversations 
among  themselves  about  the  specious  arguments  with  which 
they  might  cheat  the  devil  if  he  happened  to  put  in  a  claim 
for  them,  on  account  of  extravagance. 

"  You  must  all  be  very  good  till  I  come  back,"  she  said, 
now,  "  for  I  am  going  to  bring  you  all  presents.  I  will  buy 
you — what  shall  I  buy  you  ?  " 

The  boys  began  to  laugh,  but  rather  in  a  disappointed 
way. 

"  There  is  but  wan  thing  ye'll  get  to  buy  in  the  Hielands," 
said  Dougal,  "  and  that's  herrin'." 

"  And  too  good  for  you,"  said  the  Whaup,  coming  up, 
"  you  greedy  young  pigs.  If  I  hear  you  bargaining  about 
presents  any  more  I'll  present  ye  with  a  bottle  o'  hazel  oil, 
if  ye  ken  what  that  is.  Come  along,  Miss  Coquette,  and  get 
your  breakfast,  and  then  show  me  what  luggage  you  have. 
I  dare  say  it's  twice  as  big  as  I  can  allow." 

"  You  allow  ?    Are  you  the  master  of  the  luggage  ?  " 

"  I  am — as  you'll  find  out,"  said  he.  "  I  have  just  taken 
half  the  pile  of  things  that  Leezibeth  had  packed  up  for  my 
father  and  shunted  them  into  a  drawer.  We  don't  mean  to 
go  to  the  Sandwich  Islands." 

"  Do  we  go  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  ? "  said  Coquette, 
amply. 

"  I  said  we  don't  mean  to  go  there,"  repeated  the  Whaup, 
with  asperity  ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  don't  know  where  that  is 
— the  French  are  so  precious  ignorant." 

"  Worse  luck,"  said  Coquette,  with  an  expression  of  sin- 
penitence  which  made  the  Whaup  burst  out  laughing. 

At  length,  some  two  hours  afterwards,  Coquette  found 
herself  seated  in  the  little  dog-cart  which  had  brought  her 
t  )  Airlie.  A  sour  man  was  Andrew  Bogoe  that  day;  and 
sourer  was  he  now.  Nor  word  nor  syllable  would  he  utter ; 
and  the  more  vivacious  and  talkative  Coquette  became — 
king  to  her  uncle,  who  sat  behind,  the  Whaup  having 
been  sent  off  on  foot — the  deeper  and  sterner  became  the 
gloom  of  his  face.  Perhaps  he  was  none  the  less  disposed  to 
predict  evil  of  this  appalling  departure  from  the  sober  and 
respectable  routine    of    the   Manse,   because  of    a    severe 


io-j.  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL 

encounter  he  had  had  with  Leezibeth  that  morning.  He 
saw  that  Leezibeth  had  now  gone  wholly  over  to  the  enemy. 

"When  they  reached  the  harbour  and  saw  the  shapely 
vessel  lying  out  at  anchor,  with  her  sails  shining  in  the  sun, 
they  perceived  that  both  the  Whaup  and  Lady  Drum  had 
gone  on  board.  Presently,  the  gig  was  put  off  from  the 
yacht,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Coquette  and  her  uncle  were 
being  pulled  out  by  the  four  blue-jackets.  Lord  Earlshope 
was  at  the  gangway  to  receive  them. 

"  Why  does  he  not  wear  a  sailor's  uniform  ?  "  said  Coquette 
to  Mr.  Cassilis,  as  they  drew  near.  "  He  does  not  seem  to 
care  about  anything." 

When  they  stepped  on  board — and  Coquette  had  looked 
round  with  wonder  on  the  whiteness  of  the  deck,  and  the 
scrupulous  neatness  everywhere  visible — Lady  Drum  came 
forward,  and  kissed  her,  and  said, 

"  My  dear  child,  I  hope  you  know  about  yachts,  for  I 
don't,  and  I  feel  most  uncomfortably  in  the  way  of  every- 
body." 

"  Yes,  I  know  a  little,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Why,  all  you  have  to  do,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  coming 
forward,  "  is  to  sit  in  the  cockpit  there — an  innovation  I 
introduced  for  the  very  purpose  of  getting  ladies  out  of  the 
way  during  a  race.  You  need  have  no  fear  of  getting  hit 
on  the  head  by  the  boom,  or  of  being  washed  overboard 
either  ;  and  if  a  wave  should  come  over  the  stern " 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  looking  indignantly  out  towards  the  sea. 

The  prospect  there  was  sufficiently  reassuring.  There  was 
a  light  breeze  from  the  south-west  which  was  just  enough  to 
ruffle  the  water  and  make  it  of  a  darker  blue.  Overhead  the 
sky  was  clear  and  calm  ;  and  the  peaks  of  Arran  were  faint 
and  aerial  in  the  mid-day  mist.  Everything  promised  a 
pleasant  run  up  to  Loch  Fyne,  if  only  the  wind  would  last. 

While  the  men  were  getting  the  vessel  under  weigh,  Lord 
Earlshope's  visitors  went  down  below  ;  and  if  Coquette  had 
been  pleased  with  the  prettiness  of  the  yacht  above,  she  was 
now  charmed  with  the  decorations  of  the  state-rooms  and 
saloon.  The  transparent  flowers  painted  on  the  skylights — ■ 
the  ornamentation  and  gilding  of  what  she  profanely  called 
the  walls — the  innumerable  little  arrangements  for  comfort 


COQUETTE  LEAVES  A1RLIE.  105 

—all  these  were  matter  for  praise ;  but  the  climax  of  her 
delight  was  found  in  a  small  harmonium  which  was  placed 
in  the  saloon. 

"  I  should  have  got  a  piano  for  you,"  said  Lord  Earlshope 
— making  no  secret  of  his  having  studied  her  pleasure  in  the 
matter — "  but  they  don't  stand  the  sea  so  well.  Now,  Lady 
Drum,  will  you  take  Miss  Cassilis  into  your  cabin  ;  and  when 
you  have  made  yourselves  thoroughly  at  home — and  got  out 
some  wrappers  for  the  sea  breezes,  you  know — you  will  find 
luncheon  awaiting  you  here.  Mr.  Cassilis,  you  will  take  a 
glass  of  sherry,  won't  you  ?  You  will  always  find  it  there. 
Mr.  Tom,  do  you  shoot  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  who  had 
apparently  forgotten  his  sentiments  of  antagonism  to  Lord 
Earlshope. 

"  I  thought  you  would.  You  will  find  my  breech-loader 
in  your  cabin  ;  and  the  steward  will  give  you  cartridges  if 
you  ask  him.    Now  I  must  go  on  deck." 

"  I  never  thought  he  had  so  much  snap  in  him,"  said  the 
Whaup  familiarly  to  his  father. 

"  So  much  what  ?  "  said  the  Minister,  severely. 

"  Why,  life— energy.  I  thought  he  was  rather  a  muff — 
with  his  white  fingers,  and  his  lazy  lounge  and  that.  But 
he's  not  as  bad  a  fellow  as  people  say." 

"  Lord  Earlshope  would  be  pleased  to  know  that  you 
approve  of  him,"  said  his  father;  but  the  Whaup  lost  the 
sarcasm,  for  he  had  already  run  up  the  companion,  to  see 
what  was  going  on  above.  His  father,  following,  found  that 
the  Whaup  had  clambered  half-way  up  the  ratlines,  to  get  a 
view  of  the  surrounding  scenery  as  the  yacht  stood  out 
to  sea. 

When,  some  little  time  thereafter,  the  steward's  bell  called 
upon  Lady  Drum  and  Coquette  to  come  forth  from  their 
cabin,  the  latter  was  heard  to  say — 

"  Why  don't  we  start,  then  ?  I  do  not  like  to  remain  in 
harbour." 

But  the  moment  she  entered  the  saloon  and  saw  the  table 
sliuhtly  heeling  over,  she  said — 

"  We  are  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Earlshope  ;  "  and  missing  a  pretty  part 
of  the  coast.    So  you  ought  to  hasten  your  luncheon," 


106  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  the  table  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum, 
making  an  effort  to  put  it  at  right  angles  to  herself.  Coquette 
screamed,  and  caught  her  hand. 

"  If  you  put  it  straight,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  laughing, 
"  you  will  see  everything  fly  to  the  ground."  It  was  days, 
indeed,  before  Lady  Drum  could  believe  that  this  tumbling 
table  was  secure  ;  and  many  a  time  she  had  to  check  herself 
from  instinctively  "  putting  it  straight." 

Pleasant,  indeed,  on  that  bright  and  quiet  afternoon  was 
their  run  up  the  broad  channel  between  Bute  and  Arran.  Far 
away  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  which  they  had  left,  became  paler 
and  more  pale  ;  while  on  before  them  successive  bays  opened 
out,  with  silent  hills  overlooking  them,  and  here  and  there 
the  white  glimmer  of  a  sea  bird  in  their  shadows.  Down  in 
the  south,  the  mountains  that  rise  from  the  lonely  Loch  Ranza 
had  caught  some  clouds  about  their  peaks,  and  were  dark  and 
sombre,  as  the  mountains  of  Arran  generally  are  ;  but  all  in 
front  of  them — the  smooth  slopes  of  Bute  and  Inch  Marnoch, 
the  craggy  wonders  of  the  Kyles,  the  still  shores  of  Cowal  and 
Cantire — lay  steeped  in  a  soft  autumnal  haze,  with  the  rich 
colours  of  heather  and  fern  only  half  glimmering  through  the 
silver  veil.  It  was  like  a  voyage  into  dreamland — so  beautiful 
was  the  land  and  sea  and  sky  around  them — and  so  still. 

Such  was  the  manner  of  their  setting  out.  And  in  the 
evening  they  drew  near  the  little  harbour  of  Tarbert ;  and 
all  the  west  was  aglow  as  if  with  fire.  Even  after  they  had 
dropped  anchor,  and  the  mountains  of  Cowal  were  black  as 
night,  there  was  a  wan  glare  over  the  sky  and  out  on  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  loch.  Then  through  the  pallor  of  the 
twilight  came  the  stars,  growing  and  burning  in  the  darkness, 
until  Coquette  thought  they  seemed  just  above  the  points  of 
the  tall  masts.  She  still  lingered  on  deck,  when  all  the  others 
had  gone  below.  The  sails  were  down,  lights  run  up,  and 
through  the  skylights  of  the  saloon  came  a  dull  yellow  glow, 
and  a  sound  of  voices  which  spoke  of  a  comfortable  and 
happy  party  beneath.  Why  was  it  that  she  was  so  sad  ?  She 
had  had  her  heart's  wish  ;  she  was  setting  out  on  the  longed- 
for  excursion ;  yet  here  she  was  alone  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat,  looking  up  to  the  throbbing  wonders  of  the  heavens,  or 
down  into  the  starry  plain  of  the  sea,  and  feeling  strangely 
isolated  and  miserable. 


COQ  UE  TTE  LEA  VES  A I  RUE.  107 

Lord  Earlshope  came  in  search  of  her. 

"  Why  do  you  remain  here  alone  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Coquette,  rising  wearily. 

"  They  want  you  down  below." 

"  I  will  go  down  ;  but  it  is  very  beautiful  up  here.  I  have 
never  seen  the  stars  so  near.  They  seem  to  be  almost  touch- 
ing the  top  of  the  hill  there." 

"You  will  have  many  opportunities  of  admiring  the 
magical  sunsets  and  the  clear  nights  of  these  high  latitudes. 
You  may  make  the  cruise  as  long  as  you  please,  you  know." 

"  But  you  do  not  go  with  us  ?  "  she  asked,  with  some  little 
embarrassment. 

"  For  a  day  or  two,  to  give  you  a  start.  Unless  I  am  found 
to  be  so  useful  that  you  all  ask  me  to  stay." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  come  all  the  way  with  us  ?  "  said 
Coquette,  somewhat  too  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps  I  may." 

Coquette  went  down  into  the  cabin  then  ;  and  everybody 
was  struck  during  the  evening  by  her  extreme  amiability  and 
cheerfulness.  She  quite  won  the  heart  of  Lady  Drum  ;  who 
siid  that  the  effects  of  the  sea  air  on  the  young  lady  were 
surprising  and  gratifying,  and  needed  only  to  be  supplemented 
by  a  little  gentian. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

LOCHFYNE. 

11  It  is  Eden  :  it  is  the  Garden  of  the  Lord  !  "  said  the 
Minister  ;  and  the  sad  and  sunken  eyes  that  had  grown  dim 
over  many  books — that  had  grown  weary,  too,  perhaps,  with 
the  bleakness  of  the  upland  moor — looked  abroad  over  one  of 
the  fairest  scenes  in  the  world,  and  drank  in  the  quiet  and  the 
clear  sunshine  of  it.  Far  in  front  of  him  stretched  the  pale- 
bine  plain  of  Lo'hfyne,  that  was  as  still,  and  smooth,  and 
motionless  as  the  pale-blue  sky  above.  From  this  point  of 
the  Knapdale  coast  away  up  to  the  fork  of  Loch  Gilp  there 
was  not  a  ripple  on  the  calm  surface  j  but  over  at  the 
opposite  shore  a  slight  breeze  was  bearing' up  from  the  south, 
and  there  the  blue  of  the  water  was  intense  and  almost  dark. 
Beyond  this  azure  plain  lay  the  brown  and  ruddy  colours  of 


108  A  DAUGHTER  OF  BETH. 

the  Cowal  hills — soft  and  smooth  in  the  mist  of  the  heat ; 
while  along  them  moved  great  dashes  of  shadow  thrown  by 
the  slowly-passing  clouds  above.  Through  the  stillness  of 
the  sunshine  they  heard  the  soft  whistle  of  the  curlew  ;  they 
saw  the  solan  flap  his  heavy  white  wings  far  down  towards 
Arran  ;  they  watched  the  solitary  heron  standing  among  the 
brown  weeds  out  at  the  point  of  the  shore — while  now  and 
again  a  sea-trout  would  leap  a  foot  into  the  air,  and  fall  with 
a  splash  again  into  the  clear  water.  Then  all  around  them, 
where  they  sat  on  the  pebbly  beach,  was  the  drowsy  warmth 
of  the  sun — glittering  sharply  on  the  birch  and  hazel  bushes 
by  the  road — gleaming  more  softly  on  the  great  grey 
boulders — and  dwelling  mistily  on  the  bushes,  and  heather, 
and  rocks  of  the  hill-side.  And  all  this  was  so  still  that  it 
scarcely  seemed  to  be  of  this  world  ;  the  murmur  of  a  stream 
coming  down  through  the  trees — trickling  coolly  and  unseen 
beneath  the  tall  ferns — had  a  far  and  mournful  sound,  like 
the  sound  of  distant  music  in  a  dream. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Coquette  trying  to  whistle 
"  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer."  Then  she  uttered  a  little  cry 
of  delight  as  she  saw  Lord  Earlshope  and  Lady  Drum  coming 
along  the  road  underneath  the  trees  ;  and  when  at  length 
they  had  drawn  near  and  had  come  down  to  the  shore, 
Coquette  said — 

"  Please,  Lady  Drum,  will  you  tell  me  why  my  uncle 
becomes  sad  when  he  sees  a  pretty  day  and  a  pretty  place. 
The  good  weather  does  not  cheer  him " 

"  It  cheers  you,  at  all  events,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a 
kindly  scrutiny  of  the  girl's  face.  "  It  gives  you  a  colour 
and  a  brightness  that  makes  an  old  woman  like  me  feel  young 
again  only  to  look  at  ye.  How  have  you  been  employing 
yourself  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  have  been  trying  to  whistle  as  my  cousin  whistles, 
but  I  cannot  do  it  like  him,  perhaps  because  I  have  no 
pockets.  He  never  is  able  to  whistle  unless  he  puts  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  looks  careless,  and  stands  so  !  Then  I 
have  watched  the  grey  heron  out  at  the  rocks  there,  and  I 
have  been  wishing  he  would  get  a  fish." 

"  I  have  been  wishing  I  had  a  gun,"  said  the  practical 
Whaup,  with  obvious  discontent. 

"And  my  uncle — he  has  been  sitting  and  looking  far 


LOCHFYNE.  leg 

aWay — looking  tired,  too,  and  weary — just  as  if  he  were  still 
in  church." 

"  Listening  to  one  of  my  own  sermons,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
the  Minister,  taking  his  niece  by  the  ear.  "  I  hope  I  have 
not  been  oppressing  you  with  my  dulness  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no,  no  I "  she  said.  "  But  I  did  not  speak  to  you  ; 
you  were  thinking  of  old  years  gone  away,  were  you  not  ?  " 

The  Minister  looked  at  the  girl :  her  eyes  seemed  to  have 
divined  what  he  was  thinking  of.  But  presently  she  turned 
to  Lord  Earlshope,  and  said — 

"  "We  go  not  to-day  ?  We  do  not  perhaps  to-morrow 
either  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  smile,  "you  might 
turn  your  newest  accomplishment  to  some  use.  Could  you 
whistle  a  breeze  to  us  ?  We  are  helpless,  you  see,  until  we 
wind." 

"  I  thought  an  English  milord  never  wanted  for  anything 
that  he  did  not  get,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  of  grave 
surprise. 

The  Whaup  began  to  think  that  his  cousin  was  a  deal  too 
clever  to  be  safe. 

"  Would  it  grieve  you  so  much  to  stay  a  few  days  here  ?  " 
said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Coquette;  "I  should  prefer  to  stay 
here  always." 

"  I  have  had  the  yacht  taken  round  to  Maol-Daroch  Bay 
— that  little  shingly  creek  south  of  the  harbour — since  you 
sjioke  of  the  smell  of  the  fishing-nets  this  morning.  And 
when  you  wish  to  go  into  the  village  you  must  ask  the 
captain  to  send  you  round  in  a  boat.  By  the  way,  the 
will  be  here  presently.  I  thought  you  might  be  too 
tired  to  care  about  walking  back." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  all  that,"  said 
Coquette,  timidly,  and  looking  to  the  ground. 

It  had  already  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  everybody  should  consider  Coquette  as  of  first  im- 
portance, and  obey  her  slightest  whim,  and  anticipate  her 
smallest  wishes.  But  the  most  systematic  and  persistent 
of  her  slaves  was  Earlshope  himself,  who  seemed  to  have 
discovered  a  new  method  of  passing  the  time  in  trying  to 
please  this  young  person  by  small  attentions  ;  and  these  he 


no  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HEM. 

offered  in  a  friendly  and  familiar  way  which  robbed  them  of 
any  significance  they  might  otherwise  have  had.  The  small 
tyrant,  with  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  delicate,  finely-formed 
face,  accepted  these  ministrations  in  that  spirit  of  careless 
amiability  which  was  natural  to  her.  Sometimes — but 
rarely — she  would  appear  to  be  struck  by  this  or  that  act  of 
kindness,  and  seem  almost  disturbed  that  she  could  not 
convey  a  sense  of  her  gratitude  in  the  broken  tongue  she 
spoke ;  but  ordinarily  she  passed  from  hour  to  hour  in  the 
same  happy  unconsciousness  and  delight  in  the  present — 
glad  that  all  her  friends  were  around  her,  and  comfortable — 
glad  that  she  could  add  to  their  enjoyment  by  being  cheerful 
and  merry.  Selfish  she  certainly  was  not ;  and  there  was 
no  sort  of  trouble  or  pain  she  would  not  have  endured  to 
give  pleasure  to  those  who  were  her  friends  ;  but  she  would 
have  been  blind  indeed  had  she  not  perceived  that  to  give 
pleasure  she  had  only  to  allow  herself  to  be  pleased — that 
her  mere  presence  diffused  a  sense  of  satisfaction  through 
the  small  meetings  that  were  held  in  the  saloon  of  the  yacht, 
when  the  swinging  lamps  were  lit,  and  the  stars  overhead 
shut  out,  and  the  amusements  of  the  evening  begun.  The 
Whaup  used  to  say  that  she  was  continually  making  pretty 
pictures  ;  and  he  even  condescended  at  times  to  express 
approval  of  the  neatness  of  her  dress,  or  to  suggest  altera- 
tions in  the  disposal  of  her  big  masses  of  dark-brown  hair. 

"  And  in  time,  you  know,"  he  remarked  to  her,  "  you  will 
get  to  talk  like  other  people." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  talk  like  you,"  said  Coquette. 

"  I  can  at  least  make  myself  intelligible,"  he  retorted. 

"  Do  not  I  become  intelligible  ?  "  asked  Coquette,  meekly  ; 
and  then,  of  course,  the  least  symptom  of  doubt  on  her  part 
disarmed  the  Whaup's  criticism,  and  made  him  declare  that 
she  spoke  very  well  indeed. 

The  measured  splash  of  oars  was  now  heard ;  and  the 
heron  slowly  rose  into  the  air  with  a  few  heavy  flaps  of  his 
wings,  and  proceeded  to  settle  on  a  farther  promontory. 
The  gig,  with  its  four  rowers,  came  round  the  point ;  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  heavily-laden  boat  was  on  its  way  back 
to  the  yacht. 

Coquette  was  delighted  with  Maol-Daroch  Bay ;  she 
insisted  upon  landing  at  once ;  and   she   and  the  Whaup 


LOCHFYNE.  in 

accordingly  ran  up  the  white  shingle,  and  made  for  the 
hill-side.  Coquette  stood  upon  a  rock  that  was  perched 
high  among  the  heathery  roughnesses  of  the  hill,  and  waved 
her  handkerchief  to  those  who  had  by  this  time  gone  on 
board  the  yacht.  Lord  Earlshope  answered  with  his  cap, 
and  Mr.  Cassilis  with  his  walking-stick  ;  Lady  Drum  had 
gone  below. 

"  Now  we  shall  go  up  this  hill,  and  round,  and  down,  and 
b  ick  by  the  rocks  of  the  shore,"  said  Coquette. 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  I  haven't  a  gun  ; 
and  if  I  had,  I  daren't  shoot  up  here." 

"  Why  must  you  kill  something  wherever  you  go  ?  "  said 
Coquette. 

"  Why  must  you  scramble  along  a  hill,  all  for  nothing, 
like  a  goat  ?  "  demanded  the  Whaup. 

"  Because  it  is  something  to  do,"  answered  Coquette. 

"  You  are  a  pretty  invalid ! "  remarked  the  Whaup. 
"  But  here,  give  me  your  hand — if  you  want  climbing,  I'll 
give  you  enough  of  it." 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  planting  her  foot  firmly.  "  I  like 
you  when  you  are  gentle,  like  Lord  Earlshope  ;  but  I  am 
not  going  to  be  pulled  by  a  big  rough  boy." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  carry  you  against  your  will," 
said  the  Whaup,  a  demon  of  mischief  beginning  to  laugh  in 
his  eyes. 

"  I  would  kill  you  if  you  tried  !  "  said  Coquette,  with  a 
sudden  frown. 

He  came  forward  and  took  her  hand  quite  gently. 

M  Have  I  vexed  you  ?  Are  you  really  angry,  Coquette  ? 
Yon  didn't  think  I  was  serious,  did  you  ?  You  know  I 
wouldn't  vex  you,  if  I  got  the  world  for  it." 

A  certain  quivering  of  the  lip,  for  a  moment  uncertain, 
r.  solved  itself  into  a  smile — and  that  into  a  laugh — and 
then  Coquette  said — 

"  You  are  a  very  good  boy,  Tom,  when  you  like.  Some 
one  will  be  very  fond  of  you  some  day." 

The  Whaup  grew  more  serious  then  ;  and,  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  Coquette  that  ever  after  that  time  her  cousin's 
manner  towards  her  was  more  reserved  and  grave  than  it 
had  been  before.  He  did  not  try  to  drag  her  into  his 
boyish  pranks,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do.     On  the  contrary, 


t-tfl  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  % 

he  himself  seemed  somewhat  altered  :  and  at  times  she 
caught  him  in  a  deep  reverie.  He  began  to  talk  more 
about  his  coming  winter  studies  at  the  Glasgow  University  ; 
and  was  even  found,  on  rare  occasions,  absorbed  in  a  book. 

He  did  not  cease  to  exhibit  those  frank  and  manly  ways 
which  she  had  always  liked  ;  nor  did  he  even  put  any  marked 
restraint  on  his  relations  with  her.  He  was  as  impertinently 
straightforward  as  ever,  if  the  neatness  of  her  wristbands 
called  for  commendation,  or  if  the  streak  of  dark  blue 
ribbon  did  not  sufficiently  curb  the  wildness  of  her  hair. 
But  he  wTas  more  serious  in  his  ways ;  and  sometimes  she 
caught  him  looking  at  her  from  a  distance,  in  a  cold  way, 
as  if  she  were  a  stranger,  and  he  was  desirous  to  impress  her 
appearance  on  his  memory. 

That  evening  he  said  to  her  briefly — 

"Lord  Earlshope  and  I  are  going  to  start  at  two 
to-morrow  morning  to  go  along  the  coast  and  see  if  we  can 
shoot  some  seals." 

"  But  why  should  you  take  trouble  to  kill  them  ?  Is  it  a 
pleasure  to  kill  them  ?  " 

"  Bah  !  "  he  said.  "  Women  don't  understand  these 
things.  You  wouldn't  hear  a  man  ask  such  a  question — 
except,  perhaps,  Earlshope  himself — he  might — he  seems  to 
think  in  lots  of  things  exactly  as  you  do." 

This  was  said  with  no  particular  intention ;  and  yet  the 
girl  looked  apprehensive  as  though  the  Whaup  had  been 
making  some  complaint. 

Then  some  time  after,  he  remarked  to  her — 

"  I  don't  think  wicked  people  seem  so  wicked  when  you 
come  to  know  them." 

Coquette  was  looking  over  the  taffrail ;  she  turned  to- 
wards him  and  said  calmly — 

"  Do  you  mean  me  or  Lord  Earlshope  ?  " 

"Why  should  you  always  think  of  him?"  said  the 
Whaup.  "  Would  you  be  very  angry  if  what  I  said  applied 
to  both  of  you  ? " 

With  that  he  laughed  and  walked  away,  leaving  Coquette 
to  wonder  whether  her  cousin,  too,  regarded  her  as  a  wicked 
person. 


COQUETTE  SAILS  TO  THE  NORTH.  113 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COQUETTE   SAILS  TO   THE   NORTH. 

In  the  darkness  the  yellow  lights  of  the  yacht  were 
shining  on  the  spars  and  the  rigging  ;  the  water  that  lapped 
against  her  side  sparkled  with  stars  of  phosphorescent  fire  ; 
and  a  slight  wind,  coming  through  the  gloom,  told  of  the 
rustling  of  ferns  and  bushes  on  the  hillside — when  certain 
dusky  figures  appeared  on  deck,  and  began  to  converse  in 
whispers.  The  Whaup  was  yawning  dreadfully,  and  perhaps 
wishing  there  was  not  a  seal  in  the  world  ;  but  he  had  proposed 
the  adventure,  to  which  Lord  Earlshope  had  good-naturedly 
acceded,  and  so  he  felt  himself  bound  in  honour  not  to 
retract. 

With  their  guns  in  their  hands  they  got  down  into  the 
dinghy  which  was  waiting  for  them,  and  the  two  men  began 
to  pull  away  gently  from  the  yacht.  The  blades  of  the  oars 
struck  a  flash  of  silver  deep  into  the  water ;  and  the  white 
stars  of  the  waves  burned  even  more  keenly  than  the  other 
reflected  stars  which,  farther  away,  were  glittering  on  the 
black  surface  of  the  sea.  Towards  the  land  some  vague  and 
dusky  forms  that  were  scarcely  visible  were  known  to  be 
the  iron-bound  coast ;  and  in  uncomfortable  proximity  the 
"Whaup  could  hear  the  waves  heaving  in  upon  the  rocks. 
There  was  no  other  sound  but  that  and  the  measured  rowing. 
Overhead  the  innumerable  stars  burned  clear ;  there  were 
flickerings  of  the  reflected  light  on  the  moving  plain  of  the 
sea ;  and  in  there  at  the  shore  a  vague  darkness,  and  the 
dashing  of  unseen  waves. 

When  they  had  thus  proceeded  a  certain  distance  along 
the  coast,  the  bow  of  the  boat  was  turned  shore-ward,  and 
the  men  pulled  gently  in  toward  the  rocks.  In  the  starlight 
the  outlines  of  the  hills  above  now  became  dimly  visible ; 
but  underneath  blackness  universal  seemed  to  hide  both 
shore  and  sea.  The  noise  all  around  them,  however,  told  the 
Whaup  that  they  must  be  near  land  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  boat  was  cautiously  run  in,  one  of  the  men  jumping  out 
and  holding  her  bow.    With  a  double-barrelled  gun  in  his 

1 


H4  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

right  hand,  the  Whaup  now  found  himself  struggling  over  a 
series  of  rocks  that  were  treacherously  covered  with  sea- 
weed ;  while,  as  he  got  on  to  higher  ground,  these  rocks 
increased  in  size,  and  the  gaps  between  them  were  plunged 
in  even  profounder  darkness.  Presently  he  heard  Earlshope 
calling  on  him  to  halt ;  and  shortly  thereafter  one  of  the 
sailors,  who  had  landed,  appeared  clambering  over  the 
boulders  in  order  to  take  the  lead. 

Their  course  was  now  a  sufficiently  perilous  one.  The 
great  masses  of  tumbled  rock  that  here  form  the  coast  line 
appeared  to  go  precipitately  down  into  the  sea — a  great 
black  gulf  which  they  could  hear  splashing  beneath  them ; 
while  ever  and  anon  they  came  to  deep  ravines  in  the  sides 
of  the  hill,  down  which  small  streamlets  could  be  heard 
trickling.  Their  progress  along  these  rough  precipices — 
generally  some  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet  above  the  sea — was 
picturesque  but  uncomfortable.  The  "Whaup  found  that,  in 
spite  of  all  his  wild  plunges  and  daring  leaps,  the  sailor 
distanced  him  considerably  :  and  ahead  of  him  he  could  only 
indistinctly  see  a  blaek  figure  which  sometimes  rose  up  clear 
and  defined  against  the  star-lit  sky,  and  at  other  times  was 
vaguely  seen  to  crawl  along  the  surface  of  a  grey  shelf  of 
rock  like  some  dusky  alligator.  Now  he  found  himself  up 
to  the  neck  among  immense  brackens ;  again  he  was 
plunged  into  some  mossy  hole,  in  which  his  boots  were  like 
to  remain.  Not  unfrequently  he  had  to  go  on  hands  and 
knees  across  some  more  than  usually  precipitous  shelf ;  the 
stock  of  his  gun  making  sore  work  of  his  knuckles  as  he 
clambered  up  the  rough  surface. 

Another  halt  was  called.  "When  the  small  bay  around 
Battle  Island — where  the  seals  were  expected  to  be  found — 
had  nearly  been  reached,  it  was  determined,  to  prevent  noise, 
that  they  should  take  off  their  boots  and  creep  along  the 
rocks  on  their  stocking-soles.  The  stars  were  now  paling  ; 
and,  as  the  faint  light  of  dawn  would  soon  appear,  every 
precaution  was  necessary  that  the  seals  should  not  become 
aware  of  their  approach.  No  sooner,  indeed,  had  the  Whaup 
removed  his  boots  than  he  danced  a  wild  dance  of  exultation, 
so  delighted  was  he  to  find  that  the  soles  of  his  stockings 
caught  so  easily  and  surely  on  the  surface  of  the  boulders. 
There  was  now  far  less  risk  of  a  sudden  tumble  headlong 


COQUETTE  SAILS  TO  THE  NORTH.  115 

into  the  sea — although,  to  be  sure,  even  up  here  among  the 
rocks,  it  was  not  pleasant,  in  the  cold  of  the  night,  to  find 
one's  feet  go  down  into  a  pool  of  mossy  water. 

"  Do  you  regret  having  come  ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  Regret  it !  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  I'd  wade  a  mile  up  to 
my  neck  to  shoot  a  seal." 

Then  he  added,  with  his  usual  frankness — 

"  I  didn't  expect  you'd  have  been  able  to  keep  up  with 
us." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Whaup,  seeing  before  him  the  outline  of 
a  tall,  lithe,  slim  figure,  "  I  didn't  think  you  were  much  good 
for  this  sort  of  rough  work." 

Earlshope  laughed — not  very  loudly. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  said  ;  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  astonish  Master  Tom  with  tales  of  what  he  had  done  in 
the  way  of  muscular  performances.  "  But  you  should  not  be 
severe  on  me.  I  rather  fancy  this  is  a  piece  of  folly  ;  and  I 
have  undertaken  it  merely  to  interest  you." 

The  Whaup  noticed  at  this  moment  that  his  companion 
had  in  his  hand  the  heavy  rifle,  which  he  carried  in  a  very 
easy  and  facile  manner. 

"You  may  be  stronger  than  you  look,"  observed  the 
Whaup — throwing  out  this  qualification  from  mere  good- 
humour.  He  still  retained  an  impression  that  Earlshope, 
with  his  lady-like  fingers,  and  his  pretty  moustache,  and  his 
delicate  jewellery,  was  something  of  a  milksop. 

Absolute  silence  was  now  the  watchword  as  they  advanced  : 
there  was  no  scraping  of  heels  on  the  grit  of  the  rocks — no 
clink  of  a  trigger-guard  in  putting  down  the  hand  for 
safety's  sake.  In  a  thief-like  fashion  they  stole  along  the 
high  and  rugged  coast,  now  clambering  over  huge  blocks  of 
stone,  and  again  fighting  their  way  through  fern  and  bush, 
with  their  heads  low  and  their  footfalls  light.  At  length 
the  sailor  stopped,  and  motioned  to  Lord  Earlshope  and 
the  Whaup  to  descend.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the  latter 
on  perceiving  that  at  last  there  was  a  level  bit  of  shore 
towards  which  they  were  making  their  way.  Having  gone 
down,  in  a  snake-like  fashion,  over  the  mighty  boulders, 
they  now  crept  on  towards  the  beach  ;  and  at  length  took 
up  their  position  behind  two  pieces  of  rock,  from  which  they 

1  2 


116  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtt. 

could  see  the  channel  in  front  of  them,  lying  between  the 
land  and  the  dusky  object  which  they  knew  to  be  Battle 
Island. 

"Very  still  and  weird  was  this  place  in  the  dark  of  the 
morning,  with  the  cold  air  from  the  sea  stirring  in  the 
brushwood  overhead,  and  with  the  ceaseless  plash  of  the 
waves  echoing  all  along  the  solitary  coast.  A  faint  film  of 
cloud  had  come  over  the  sky,  and  hid  the  stars  ;  but  in  the 
east  there  seemed  to  be  a  pallid  grey  far  across  the  dark 
water  towards  Ardlamont  Point.  And,  by-and-by,  as  they 
crouched  behind  the  boulders,  and  waited,  there  was  visible 
— whence  it  had  come  no  one  could  say — a  brilliant  planet, 
burning  like  gold  in  the  wan  mist  above  the  eastern  sea  ; 
and  they  knew  that  it  was  the  star  of  the  morning.  Slowly 
the  dawn  approached — slowly  the  dark  outline  of  Battle 
Island  became  more  defined ;  and  the  black  hollows  of  the 
waves  that  crept  in  towards  the  shore  had  now  a  pale  hue 
between  them,  that  scarcely  could  be  called  light. 

Patiently  they  waited,  scanning  the  outline  of  the  island- 
rocks,  and  watching  all  the  water  around  for  the  rolling  of 
the  seals.  There  was  no  sign.  Perhaps  the  grey  in  the  east 
Avas  waxing  stronger — it  was  impossible  to  tell,  for  their 
eyes  had  grown  bewildered  with  the  constant  motion  of 
the  tumbling  waves  and  the  eager  scrutiny  of  these  black 
lines  and  hollows. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  quick  chirp  just  beside  them,  and 
the  Whaup's  heart  leapt  with  alarm.  He  turned  to  find 
a  sea-lark  running  quite  near  him  ;  and,  at  the  same  moment 
that  he  perceived  this  first  symptom  of  awakening  life,  he 
became  aware  that  it  had  grown  lighter  out  by  Ardlamont 
Point. 

And  now,  with  a  strange  and  rapid  transition,  as  if  the 
world  had  begun  to  throb  with  the  birth  of  the  new  day, 
there  arose  in  the  eastern  sky  a  great  smoke  of  red — a  pink 
mist  that  mounted  and  spread  as  if  from  some  mighty 
conflagration  beyond  the  line  of  the  sea.  All  in  the  west — 
by  the  far  shores  of  Knapdale  and  up  the  long  stretch  of 
Lochfyne — there  brooded  a  dull  and  mysterious  fog,  in 
which  hills  and  islands  lay  like  gloomy  clouds ;  but  over 
there  at  the  eastern  horizon  there  was  a  glow  of  rose-coloured 
smoke,  which  as  yet  had  no  reflection  on  the  sea.    And 


COQUETTE  SAILS  TO  THE  NORTH.  117 

while  they  looked  on  it,  half  forgetting  the  object  of  their 
quest  in  the  splendour  of  this  sight — the  perpetual  wonder 
and  mystery  of  the  dawn — the  red  mist  parted,  and  broke 
into  long  parallel  swathes  of  cloud,  which  were  touched 
with  sharp,  jewel-like  lines  of  fire  ;  and  as  the  keenness  of 
the  crimson  waxed  stronger  and  stronger,  there  came  over 
the  sea  a  long  and  level  flush  of  salmon-colour,  which 
bathed  the  waves  in  its  radiance,  leaving  their  shadows  an 
intense  dark  green.  The  glare  and  the  majesty  of  this 
spectacle  lasted  but  for  a  few  minutes.  The  intensity  of 
the  colours  subsided  ;  the  salmon-coloured  waves  grew  of  a 
pile  neutral  tint ;  a  cold  twilight  spread  over  the  sky  ;  and 
with  the  stirring  of  the  wind  came  in  the  new  life  of  the 
world — the  crowing  of  some  grouse  far  up  in  the  heather, 
the  chirping  of  birds  in  the  bushes,  the  calling  of  curlew, 
and  the  slow  flapping  of  a  pair  of  herons  coming  landward 
from  the  sea. 

Suddenly  Lord  Earlshope,  who  had  been  peering  over  the 
edge  of  the  rock  before  him,  touched  his  companion's  arm. 
The  Whaup  went  forward  on  his  knees,  and  stealthily 
looked  over  in  the  direction  pointed  out.  He  could  see 
nothing  but  the  dark  rocks  of  Battle  Island,  in  the  midst  of 
the  greyish-green  water.  He  was  about  to  express  his 
disappointment,  when  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  outline  of  a 
bit  of  rock  at  the  end  of  the  island  was  moving.  Could  it 
be  the  undulations  of  the  waves  which  were  surging  all 
around;  or  was  that  motion  of  the  black  line  the  motion  of 
an  animal  that  had  got  up  on  it  from  the  water  ? 

Lord  Earlshope  handed  his  rifle  to  the  Whaup,  with  a 
hurried  gesture.  But  the  arrangement  had  been  that, 
while  the  one  had  a  rifle  and  the  other  a  double-barrelled 
fowling-piece  loaded  with  heavy  shot,  the  distance  of  the 
seal  was  to  decide  which  should  fire.  Accordingly,  the 
Whaup  refused  to  take  the  rifle. 

"  It  is  your  shot,"  he  whispered. 

"  I  don't  want  to  kill  the  beast :  why  should  I  ?  "  said 
Earlshope,  carelessly. 

Even  as  the  Whaup  was  in  the  act  of  putting  the  barrel 
of  the  rifle  cautiously  over  the  rock,  he  remembered  what 
Coquette  had  said ;  and  also  that  he  had  made  the  hap- 
hazard guess  that  Earlshope  would  probably  say  the  same. 


n8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

But  there  was  little  chance  to  think  of  such  things.  His 
breath  was  coming  and  going  at  double-quick  time,  and 
he  held  his  teeth  tight  as  he  brought  the  sight  of  the  barrel 
up  to  the  line  of  rock.  It  rested  there  for  a  moment — there 
was  a  spurt  of  fire — a  bang  that  echoed  and  re-echoed  up 
among  the  rocky  hills — and  then  Lord  Earlshope  rose,  glad 
to  be  able  to  stretch  his  limbs  at  last. 

"  You  have  either  missed  altogether  or  shot  him  dead  ; 
there  was  no  movement  whatever  when  you  fired." 

"By  Jove,  then,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  tremendous 
eagerness,  "  I  have  shot  him  dead  if  there  was  a  seal  there  at 
all — for  I  know  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  was  as  steady  as  a 
rock  when  I  fired." 

"  "We  shall  see  presently,"  said  his  companion.  "  They 
will  bring  the  boat  up  now." 

Presently,  the  two  men  were  seen  pulling  round  the  point ; 
and  then  Lord  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup  went  to  the  edge 
of  the  water,  got  into  the  boat,  and  were  pulled  out  to 
the  island.  Very  anxiously  did  one  of  them,  at  least,  regard 
that  small,  dark  promontory  ;  but  there  was  nothing  visible. 
They  drew  nearer — they  now  saw  the  surface  of  the  rocks 
clearly — and  that  was  all. 

"  Yery  sorry,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  but  you  seem  to 
have  missed." 

"  I  didn't  miss  ! "  the  Whaup  insisted.  "  Let  us  land, 
and  see." 

So,  at  a  convenient  spot,  they  ran  the  boat  in,  and  got  out 
among  the  seaweed,  and  then  made  their  way  along  to  the 
end  of  the  island.  Suddenly  the  Whaup  uttered  a  piercing 
yell  of  delight,  and  began  to  clamber  along  the  rocks  in  the 
most  reckless  fashion.  Lord  Earlshope,  following  after  him, 
found  him  grasping  with  both  his  hands  a  round-headed, 
fat,  and  limp-looking  animal,  which  he  was  endeavouring  to 
drag  up  to  the  higher  platform. 

"  There — did  I  miss  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  since  you  have  got  him,  what  do  you  mean  to  do 
with  him  ? "  said  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  smile.  "  You 
have  had  the  satisfaction  of  killing  him,  and  the  much 
rarer  satisfaction  of  getting  him  after  killing  him — but 
what  then  ?  " 

The  Whaup  dropped  the  seal  on  to  the  rocks  again  ;  and 


COQUETTE  SAILS  TO  THE  NORTH.  119 

looked  at  the  unfortunate  creatures  with  some  disappoint- 
ment mingled  with  his  pride. 

"  What  do  they  make  of  these  brutes  ?  You  can't  get 
seal-skin  waistcoats  out  of  that  soapy- looking  stuff  ?  " 

"  You  may  eat  him,  if  you  like — I  suppose  he  is  not 
much  oilier  than  a  solan.  However,  we  may  as  well  lug  him 
into  the  boat,  and  get  back  to  Maol-Daroch.  It  is  singular 
we  have  seen  none  of  his  companions,  though." 

The  men  approached  the  slippery  animal  with  much  more 
caution  than  the  Whaup  had  displayed — they  were  evidently 
not  quite  sure  that  the  whiskered  mouth  might  not  open  and 
proceed  from  a  bark  to  a  bite.  He  was  got  into  the  boat 
at  last ;  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup  followed ;  and  again 
the  fall  of  the  oars  was  heard  along  the  lonely  coast.  It  was 
now  broad  daylight ;  and  when  they  reached  Maol-Daroch 
Bay,  the  sun  was  shining  on  the  green  hill-side,  and  on  the 
white  beach,  and  on  the  far  blue  plain  of  the  sea. 

Coquette  was  standing  at  the  stern  of  the  yacht  as  they 
approached,  with  the  sunlight  colouring  her  cheek  and 
gleaming  on  the  white  handkerchief  she  waved  to  them. 

"  Have  you  had  a  success  ?  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  how  very 
miserable  you  look  !  " 

"  It  isn't  half  as  meeserayble  as  we  feel,"  remarked  the 
Whaup,  who  was  sleepy,  and  hungry,  and  stiff. 

"  You  have  not  shot  nothing  !  "  said  Coquette,  clapping 
her  hands,  "  or  you  would  come  home  proud  and  fierce — 
like  the  old  north  warriors  when  they  did  come  home  from 
the  sea.  What  is  that  in  the  boat  ?  Ah !  You  shoot 
one  ? — yes  !  It  is  beastly-looking — I  mean  it  is  hideous — 
horrid ! " 

The  seal  was  allowed  for  the  present  to  remain  in  the 
small  boat,  and  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup  came  on  deck. 
To  the  sleepy  eyes  of  the  Whaup,  who  was  cold  and  wretched 
in  spite  of  his  triumph,  his  cousin  seemed  quite  offensively 
cheerful,  and  bright,  and  comfortable. 

"  Have  you  had  breakfast  yet  ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  made  friends  with  your 
steward,  and  he  has  given  me  two  apples  and  a  big  bunch 
of  grapes.  I  am  sorry  I  have  eaten  all — I  cannot  give  you 
one." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he.  "  But  I  suppose  your  cousin 
will  follow  my  example,  get  down  below,  and  have  a  sleep. 


120  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Good-bye  till  lunch  time,  Miss  Cassilis — I  presume  by  then 
we  shall  be  up  at  Ardrishaig." 

So  they  went  below  ;  and  Coquette  sat  down,  and  took  up 
a  book  she  had  been  carrying  with  her.  But  she  could  not 
read ;  for  there  was  sunlight  abroad,  and  the  fluttering  of 
wind  through  the  thin  ropes  that  stretched  up  into  the  blue, 
and  the  ripple  of  the  bright  water  all  around.  They  were 
about  to  set  out  now  on  their  voyage  northward — that  far 
wandering  into  the  unknown  Western  Isles  of  which  she 
had  dreamed — and  he  had  spoken  no  word  of  his  leaving 
them.  Would  he  go  all  the  way,  then,  and  spend  all  this 
happy  time  with  them,  afar  from  the  dull  routine-life  and 
the  harsh-thinking  people  of  the  land  ?  At  she  thought  of 
the  fair  prospect  that  was  thus  opened  out  before  her,  the 
pages  of  the  book  that  lay  in  the  sunshine  were  filled  with 
pictures — wonderful  landscapes  that  burned  in  the  brightest 
of  colours,  and  had  the  stirring  of  wind  and  of  light  in 
them.  Lady  Drum  came  on  deck,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  the  girl  sitting  all  alone,  looking  so  wonderfully  pleased 
and  happy. 

"  To-day  we  set  sail,"  said  Coquette,  almost  laughing  writh 
pure  gladness,  "and  go  away — away  beyond  all  you  can 
think  of — among  hills,  and  mountains,  and  the  sea." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  glad  not  to  come  back  ?  "  said 
Lady  Drum,  looking  into  the  happy  face,  and  holding  both 
the  girl's  hands. 

"Yes — I  should  be  glad  not  to  come  back — it  is  so 
pleasant  here — and  where  we  are  going,  will  not  that  be  far 
more  pleasant  ?  " 

"That  is  what  young  folks  always  think,"  said  Lady 
Drum — "  always  looking  forward  with  hope  in  their  eyes. 
But  we  who  have  got  older,  and  have  gone  farther  on  the 
voyage — we  look  back." 

And  while  these  two  and  Mr.  Cassilis  were  at  breakfast, 
they  heard  the  sails  being  hoisted  above ;  and  when  they 
went  on  deck,  they  found  the  great  breadths  of  white  canvas 
lying  over  before  a  southerly  breeze  ;  and  there  was  a  hissing 
of  water  at  the  bow  and  along  the  side  ;  and,  while  Maol- 
Daroch  Bay,  and  Tarbert,  and  all  the  rocks  and  islands  about 
were  slowly  receding  to  the  south,  before  them  there  opened 
up  the  great  blue  breadth  of  Lochfyne,  with  the  far,  faint 
hills  shining  mistily  in  the  sun. 


COQUETTE  DISCOURSES,  121 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

COQUETTE  DISCOURSES. 

"  I  think  your  cousin  is  very  fond  of  you,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  with  a  good-natured  smile,  to  Coquette.  They  were 
running  up  the  blue  waters  of  Lochfyne,  before  a  light 
and  steady  breeze.  The  Whaup  had  concealed  himself  at 
the  bow,  lying  prone,  with  the  barrels  of  his  breech-loader 
peeping  over  the  rail. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  sure  he  is,"  said  Coquette,  seriously. 
"  He  will  do  anything  for  me — he  has  dared  to  fight  dis- 
agreeable people  for  me — he  has  got  into  danger  for  me — he 
is  very  kind — and  just  now,  look  !  he  is  trying  to  get  for 
me  some  wild  bird — I  do  not  know  its  name — which  has 
beautiful  feathers." 

"  All  that  is  nothing,"  said  Lady  Drum,  taking  Coquette's 
hand  in  hers.  "  Don't  you  think  that  some  day  or  other  he 
may  ask  you  to  marry  him  ?  " 

The  elderly  lady  who  was  now  looking  at  Coquette's  face, 
expected — as  elderly  ladies  do  expect  when  they  begin  to 
tease  girls  about  love-affairs — that  her  companion  would 
blush,  and  protest,  and  be  pleased,  and  affect  to  be  indignant. 
On  the  contrary,  Coquette  said,  simply  and  gravely — 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that.    But  he  is  too  young." 

"  And  you  also,  perhaps.  In  a  year  or  two  he  will  be  a 
man,  and  you  will  be  marriageable." 

"  Then,"  said  Coquette,  dubiously,  "  it  may  be.  I  do  not 
know,  because  my  uncle  has  not  spoken  to  me  of  any 
such  thing  ;  but  he  may  think  it  a  good  marriage,  and 
arrange  it." 

"  Bless  me,  lassie  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Drum,  in  amazement. 
"  Is  it  true  that  folk  make  slaves  of  their  children  in  that 
way  in  France  ?  I  have  heard  of  it ;  I  did  not  believe  it. 
In  this  country  girls  arrange  their  own  marriages." 

"  That,  too,  is  very  good,"  said  Coquette,  "  when  it  is  with 
their  parents'  wish.  It  is  of  more  consequence  that  a  girl 
pleases  her  parents  than  herself,  is  it  not  ?  " 

*'  And  make  herself  miserable  all  her  life  ?  "  said  Lady 


122  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Drum,  startled  to  find  herself  arguing — in  defiance  of  all 
precedent — on  the  side  of  youth  as  against  age. 

"  But  that  does  not  happen,"  said  Coquette.  "  Now  one 
of  my  good  friends  in  Nantes — she  was  told  by  her  parents 
that  she  had  to  marry  a  young  gentleman  who  was  coming 
home  from  the  Martinique,  and  had  never  been  to  France 
before.  I  remember  she  and  her  parents  did  go  down  by 
the  railway  to  St.  Nazaire,  when  they  heard  the  boat  had 
come  ;  and  a  week  or  two  after  I  did  see  Babiche—  that  is 
Isabella,  you  know — and  oh !  hoAV  proud  and  happy  she 
was.  And  they  are  married,  and  live  at  Paimbceuf,  just 
across  the  river ;  and  Babiche  is  as  happy  as  she  can  be. 
But  then,"  added  Coquette  wistfully,  "  the  young  gentleman 
was  very  good-looking." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  loud  "  bang ! "  at  the  bow. 
The  Whaup  had  fired  at  a  couple  of  guillemots  that  were 
some  distance  off  on  the  water ;  but  they  had  "  ducked 
the  flash,"  and  Coquette  was  not  enriched  with  any  of  their 
plumage.     Then  she  resumed  : 

"What  I  do  think  very  good  is  this,"  said  Coquette, 
"  when  your  parents  speak  of  a  marriage,  and  it  is  left  not 
altogether  fixed  ;  but  all  the  same,  if  they  die,  and  you  are 
left  alone,  and  you  have  no  friends,  there  is  the  one  person 
who  comes  to  you  and  says,  'Now  I  will  take  care  of 
you,'  and  you  know  they  would  have  approved.  And  the 
same  it  is  if  you  have  got  into  trouble — suppose  that  you 
did  become  miserable  through  making  an  attachment  for 
some  one  who  does  not  care  for  you — there  is  always  this 
good  friend  who  likes  you,  and  you  can  marry,  and  forget 
all  that  is  past,  and  be  like  other  people  for  the  rest  of 
your  life." 

Lady  Drum  could  scarce  believe  her  ears.  Had  she 
been  called  upon  to  argue  on  the  usual  side,  she  could  have 
repeated  those  admirably  wise  maxims  which  elderly  ladies 
have  at  their  command  (and  which  they  never  thought  of 
obeying  in  their  youth)  ;  but  surely  things  were  ordered 
differently  in  France  when  this  young  creature — whose  soft 
dark  eyes  were  apparently  made  to  steal  men's  hearts  away 
— could  be  found  gravely  arguing  a  business-like  view  of 
love  affairs,  which  even  a  shrewd  and  able  Scotchwoman 
would  have  scrupled  to  advance. 


COQUETTE  DISCOURSES.  123 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  that  French  girls  like 
their  parents  to  choose  a  husband,  so  that,  if  they  have 
an  unfortunate  love  affair,  they  can  still  fall  back  on  this 
substitute  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  you  do  say  things  harshly. 
But  -who  knows  what  might  happen  ? — and  if  your  old 
Ounce  is  still  faithful — and  would  like  to  marry — you  make 
him  happy,  do  you  not  ? " 

"And  is  that  the  role  you  have  sketched  out  for  your 
good-natured  cousin  ?  "  asked  Lady  Drum,  rather  vexed 
with  this  plain  enunciation  of  a  theory  which,  although  it 
was  based  upon  filial  submission,  seemed  to  her  to  have 
dangerous  elements  in  it. 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  Coquette,  gravely  ;  "  I  hope  I  shall  never 
have  to  go  to  him  and  say  that  I  am  willing  to  become 
his  wife  only  because  I  am  miserable  and  unhappy.  He 
deserves  something  better  than  that,  does  he  not  ?  " 

"  And  so  do  you,"  said  Lady  Drum,  in  a  kindly  fashion. 
"  You  must  not  go  anticipating  misfortune  for  yourself  in 
that  way.  You  must  forget  the  notions  those  French  people 
put  into  your  head.  You  will  take  to  our  simple  Scotoh 
habits — and  you  will  marry  the  man  you  love  best,  and  not 
any  substitute  at  anybody's  bidding.  A  pleasant  courtship 
— a  happy  marriage — and  an  even,  comfortable,  respectable 
life,  that  is  the  custom  here." 

Indeed,  Lady  Drum's  notions  of  romance  had  been  derived 
chiefly  from  the  somewhat  easy  and  confident  overtures 
made  by  Sir  Peter  while  he  was  yet  a  young  man,  and  had 
a  waist.  The  gay  and  rotund  Sir  Peter  at  no  time  would 
have  looked  well  in  the  character  of  Manfred  ;  and  his 
performance  on  a  guitar  under  his  mistress's  window  would 
have  been  but  indifferent.  Lady  Drum  knew  she  was  as 
happy  as  most  married  women  ;  and  hoped  that  these 
dangerous  French  ideas  about  wild  love  affairs  being  atoned 
for  by  an  after-marriage  with  a  substitute  chosen  by  relatives, 
would  not  be  translated  into  the  uncongenial  atmosphere  of 
Western  Scotland. 

"I  thought,"  said  Coquette,  "that  the  Scotch  people 
were  very  hard  in  their  obedience  to  duty — and  against 
pleasure  and  comfort.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  *  Alas !  I 
shall  never  become  Scotch.'    But  now  I  do  think  on  one 


124  .  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

point  I  am  more  dutiful  than  you.  I  would  many  any- 
body that  my  uncle  and  all  of  you  considered  I  ought  to 
marry." 

"And  make  love  to  somebody  else,  as  is  the  fashion  in 
France  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"  It  is  no  such  fashion  in  France,"  said  Coquette.  "  It 
is  only  that  the  Scotch  are  ignorant  of  all  people  but  them- 
selves— and  think  nobody  so  good  as  themselves — and  are 
suspicious ! " 

Lady  Drum's  anger  broke  into  a  smile  at  the  pretty 
vehemence  with  which  Coquette  fought  for  her  country- 
women ;  and  at  this  moment  Lord  Earlshope  came  on  deck 
and  asked  what  was  the  matter  in  dispute.  Coquette  caught 
Lady  Drum's  hand,  and  pressed  it.  The  old  Scotchwoman 
looked  at  the  girl,  and  saw  that  she  was  quite  pale — a 
circumstance  that  puzzled  her  not  a  little  in  after  moments 
of  reflection. 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Drum,  obeying  Coquette's  unspoken 
entreaty,  "  we  were  talking  about — about  French  schools  for 
the  most  part." 

Further  inquiry  was  rendered  impossible  ;  for  at  this 
moment  the  yacht  was  running  into  the  harbour  of  Ardrishaig, 
and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  bustle  on  board.  The  Whaup 
came  aft  also,  taking  the  cartridges  out  of  his  gun ;  and 
began  to  make  vague  suggestions  about  lunch.  Finally,  it 
was  resolved  that,  so  soon  as  Mr.  Cassilis  could  be  prevailed 
on  to  remove  his  books  and  writing  materials  from  the  table 
of  the  saloon,  they  should  go  down  to  have  that  meal  which 
was  troubling  the  mind  of  the  Whaup,  and  so -^escape  the 
tedium  of  the  preparations  necessary  for  going  through  the 
Crinan  canal. 

Why  was  Coquette  so  silent  and  distraite  when — after  a 
long  and  solemn  grace  from  the  Minister — they  began 
the  French-looking  repast  which  had  been  served  for 
them  ? 

"  You  are  still  thinking  of  the  pension,  are  you  not,  Miss 
Cassilis  ?  "  said  Earlshope.  "  You  should  give  us  some 
initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  so  sacred  a  place.  Was 
there  anything  romantic  about  it  ?  " 

"Our  pension  was  full  of  mystery  and  romance,"  said 
Coquette,  brightening  up,  "  because  of  two  German  young 


COQUETTE  DISCOURSES.  125 

ladies  who  were  there.  They  introduced — what  shall  I  call 
it  ? — exaltation.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?  When  one 
girl  makes  another  exaltee,  because  of  her  goodness  or  her 
beauty,  and  worships  her,  and  kisses  her  dress  when  she 
passes  her,  and  serves  her  in  all  things,  yet  dare  not  speak 
to  her  ?  And  the  girl  who  is  exaltee — she  must  be  proud 
and  cold,  and  show  scorn  for  her  attendant — even  although 
she  has  been  her  friend.  It  was  these  German  young  ladies 
from  the  Bohemian- Wald  who  introduced  it — and  they 
were  tall  and  dark,  and  very  beautiful,  and  many  would  have 
wished  to  make  them  exaltees,  but  they  were  always  the 
first  to  seek  out  some  one  whom  they  admired  very  much, 
and  no  one  was  so  humble  and  obedient  as  they  were. 
All  the  pension  was  filled  with  it — it  was  a  religion,  an  en- 
thusiasm— and  you  would  see  girls  crying  and  kneeling  on 
the  floor,  to  show  their  love  and  admiration  for  their  friend." 

"And  you — were  you  ever  exaltee?"  asked  Lord  Earls- 
hope. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  little  shrug.  "  One  or  two 
of  my  friends  did  wish  to  make  me  exaltee,  but  I  did  laugh 
at  them,  and  they  were  angry.  I  did  not  wish  to  be  cruel 
to  anyone.  I  did  prefer  to  go  about  and  be  friends  with 
everybody  in  the  middle  of  so  much  distraction." 

"  And  did  you  never  exalt  anybody  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  too  troublesome,"  said  Coquette.  At  which 
Lady  Drum  smiled. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  observed  the  Whaup,  coolly,  "  that  it 
was  a  clever  device  to  let  a  lot  of  girls  make  love  to  each 
other,  for  want  of  anybody  else.  It  was  keeping  their  hand 
in,  as  it  were." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  there,"  said  Coquette, 
graciously.  "  We  should  have  been  charmed  to  make  you 
exalte." 

"And  do  you  think  I'd  have  treated  any  of  you  with 
scorn  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  grin,  and  quite  ignoring  Co- 
quette's retort.     "  No.     Far  from  it,     I  should  have " 

The  Whaup  glanced  at  his  father,  and  paused — indeed, 
his  father  was  calmly  regarding  him. 

"  You  would  have  gone  from  one  to  the  other,"  said  Lord 
Earlshope,  gravely,  "and  persuaded  her  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  a  hallucination." 


126  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  In  worshipping  me  ? "  said  the  Whaup.  "  Well, 
now  I  call  that  a  very  good  bit  of  sarcasm.  There  is  no 
spite  in  it,  as  in  women's  sarcasm — but  a  clean,  sharp 
sword-thrust,  straight  from  the  shoulder,  skewering  you  as 
if  you  were  an  eel,  and  as  if  you  had  nothing  to  do  but 
wriggle." 

"  Thomas,"  said  the  Minister,  severely,  "  you  are  not 
accustomed  to  take  so  much  claret." 

"  That,  sir,"  replied  the  Whaup,  with  perfect  coolness,  "  is 
why  I  am  helping  myself  so  liberally  at  present,  with  Lord 
Earlshope's  kind  permission." 

Lady  Drum  shook  her  head  ;  but  Coquette  laughed  in 
her  low,  quiet  fashion  ;  and  the  Whaup  familiarly  nodded 
to  Lord  Earlshope,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Gave  it  to  the  old 
boy  that  time." 

Then,  having  fetched  hats  and  shawls  from  their  re- 
spective state-rooms,  they  went  above  and  got  on  shore, 
setting  out  to  walk  along  the  banks  of  the  Crinan  until  the 
Caroline  should  get  clear  of  the  locks. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

LETTERS  FROM  AIRLIE. 

"  Oh,"  said  Coquette,  as  they  walked  along  the  winding 
path,  with  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  district  gradually 
opening  up  before  them,  "I  did  get  two  letters  for  you, 
uncle,  at  Tarbert,  and  forgot  all  about  them.  Here  they 
are  ;  shall  I  read  them  ?  " 

The  two  letters  which  she  produced  from  her  pocket  had 
the  Airlie  stamp  on  them ;  and  Mr.  Cassilis  at  once  bade 
her  do  as  she  pleased.  So  she  broke  the  seal  of  the  first,  and 
began  to  read  aloud  : 

"  '  Honoured  Sir  and  master  in  the  Lord, — I  tak  up  my 
pen  to  let  ye  know  that  I  have  been,' — what  is  this  ?  "  said 
Coquette. 

The  Minister  took  it  from  her,  and  continued  himself  : 

11 — that  I  have  been  stung.  Atweel  I  wat  no  man  ever 
heard  me  complain  unnecessary-wise  about  my  poseetion  in 


LETTERS  FROM  A I  RUE.  127 

life,  which  I  accept  with  gratitude  and  humeelity  from  the 
Giver  of  all  Good — to  wit  the  Dispenser  of  all  Mercies  at 
present  and  to  come  ;  but  I  maun  tak  the  leeberty  o'  saying, 
honoured  Sir,  that  I  cannot  bide  in  this  house  any  langer  to 
be  treated  worse  than  the  beast  that  perisheth.  From  the 
fingers  to  the  elbows — and  my  face  and  neck  likewise — am  I 
covered  wi'  the  venomous  stings  o'  bees,  and  do  suffer  a  pain 
grievous,  and  like  unto  the  plagues  which  were  put  on  the 
people  of  Egypt  for  their  sins.  Honoured  Sir,  I  canna  bear 
wi1  they  callants  any  longer,  as  I  chanced  upon  one  o'  them 
laughing  like  to  split,  and  am  aware  it  was  a  skeem  to  inflict 
this  wrong  and  injury  upon  me,  which  I  howp  will  cause 
you  to  inquire  into,  and  begging  the  favour  of  a  reply 
to  say  when  ye  are  coming  back — and  what  sore  punishment 
will  be  meeted  out  to  them  that  richly  deserve  the  same — I 
am,  your  humble  and  obedient  servant  in  the  Lord, 

"Andrew  Bogue." 

"  Can  it  be,"  said  the  Minister,  when  he  had  read  this 
letter  aloud,  "  can  it  be  that  those  mischievous  boys  have 
conspired  to  set  a  lot  of  bees  to  sting  him  ?  " 

Coquette  looked  somewhat  frightened  ;  but  the  Whaup 
observed,  cheerfully — 

"  Indeed,  sir,  those  brothers  of  mine  are  fearful.  I  have 
done  my  best  with  them  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief  ; 
bat  it  is  no  use.  And  to  go  and  set  a  bees'  bike  at  an  auld 
man ! " 

The  Whaup  shook  his  head  disconsolately.  His  brothers 
were  incorrigible — even  he  had  been  compelled  to  desist  from 
his  efforts  to  improve  them. 

"  Do  you  hear  him  ?  "  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice  to 
Lord  Earlshope.  "  And  it  was  he  himself  who  did  plan 
all  that  about  the  bees,  and  got  them,  and  put  them  in 
a  l>ag." 

"  And  then,"  said  Earlshope,  aloud,  to  the  Whaup,  "  the 
worst  of  it  is  that  they  go  and  blame  you  for  what  they 
do  themselves ;  so  that  the  whole  district  has  got  to  dread 
you,  whereas  you  have  been  trying  to  put  down  these 
pranks." 

The  Whaup  turned  towards  Lord  Earlshope,  and  slowly 
winked  one  of  his  eyes.     By  this  time  the  Minister  had 


128  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

opened  the  other  letter,  and  was  perusing  it  in  silence.    It 
ran  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  and  Eeverend  Sir, — It  behoves  me  to  accomplish, 
or  in  other  words  to  fulfil  the  promise  which  I,  as  an  elder  in 
your  church,  made  to  you,  on  your  setting  forth,  to  make  you 
acquaint,  or  familiarise  you  with,  the  events  and  occurrences, 
the  state  of  feeling,  and  general  condition  of  this  parish. 
Towards  yourself,  their  spiritual  governor,  leader,  and  guide, 
the  people  do  show  themselves  most  loyal  and  friendly,  hoping 
you  will  continue  your  voyages  abroad  to  the  benefiting  of 
your  health,  and  that  you  may  be  saved  from  the  perils  of  the 
waters — or,  as  I  might  have  said,  from  the  dangers  that 
encompass  them  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships.  As  for 
the  young  man  who  is  to  take  your  pulpit,  God  willing,  next 
Sabbath,  report  speaks  well  of  his  forbears  ;  but  divers  per- 
sons who  have  heard  him  in  Arbroath,  Greenock,  and  else- 
where, do  fear  that  he  is  not  severe  enough  in  defining  the 
lines  and  limits  of  doctrine,  holding  rather  to  the  admonitory 
side,  which  does  not  give  his  hearers  sufficient  chance,  or 
opportunity,  to  use  a  less  pagan  word,  to  get  at  his  own 
stand-point,  which  is  a  grave,  or,  it  might  be  said 
with  safety,  a  serious  matter ;  for  whereas  those  ministers 
who  have  been  long  with  us,  and  who  have  given 
proofs  of  their  doctrinal  soundness,  may  be  permitted 
to  deal  more  with  reproof  and  exhortation,  it  is  for  the 
younger  generation  of  preachers  to  declare  themselves  clearly 
and  sharply,  that  the  church  universal  may  not  be  ensnared 
and  entrapped  in  the  dark,  there  being,  I  grieve  to  hear,  a 
dangerous  leaven  of  looseness  in  the  colleges  and  other  places 
where  young  men  congregate,  or,  as  I  might  say,  come 
together.  The  only  news  of  importance,  besides  this  subject, 
which  I  have  to  communicate,  is  that  Pensioner  Lamont  did 
once  more,  on  the  night  of  Tuesday,  become  most  abnormal 
drunk,  and  did  dance  and  play  his  fiddle  in  an  uproarious  and 
godless  manner  in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Pettigrew  ;  and  likewise 
that  Lauchie — who  is  vulgarly  called  Field  Lauchie — 
Macintyre's  wife's  baim  has  been  visited  with  the  rash,  which 
I  hope  will  be  taken  as  a  sign  of  the  warning  finger  of 
Providence,  and  cause  the  said  Lauchie  to  give  over,  or,  as  I 
may  say,  abandon,  his  abominable  and  reckless  conduct  of 


LETTERS  FROM  AIRLIE.  129 

walking  to  the  town  of  Ardrossan  every  Sabbath  day,  and 
remaining  there  until  the  evening,  I  fear  in  no  good 
company.  This,  dear  and  reverend  sir,  from  yours  to 
command,  ^Eneas  Gillespie." 

"  Good  news  from  Airlie  ?  "  asked  Lady  Drum. 

"  Yes — in  a  manner,  yes,"  replied  the  Minister,  with 
(Ik  amy  eyes.  It  "was  a  new  thing  for  him  to  hear  only  the 
distant  echo  of  his  parish. 

"  Your  boys  seem  to  want  their  elder  brother  to  control 
them  ?  "  continued  Lady  Drum. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Minister.  "  He  prevails  on  them  to  leave 
the  Manse  quiet  when  he  is  there,  though  it  may  be  only  to 
lead  them  into  greater  mischief  elsewhere.  Kut  they  will 
have  to  look  after  themselves  now  for  the  rest  of  the  autumn 
and  winter." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  Tom  is  returning  to  his  studies  at  Glasgow," 
observed  the  Minister. 

Coquette  had  been  standing  to  watch  some  water-hens 
which,  on  the  opposite  bank,  were  scrambling  about  in  the 
rushes,  and  she  came  up  only  in  time  to  hear  these  last 
words. 

"  You  are  going  to  Glasgow'  ?  "  she  said  to  the  Whaup. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  some  gravity.  "  I  mean  to  work 
hard  this  winter." 

"  And  you  will  not  be  at  Airlie  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Does  that  distress  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nobody  but  Leesiebeffl  and  her  husband,"  said  Coquette, 
wistfully.  "It  will  not  be  pleasurable — the  Manse — in  the 
dark  time  of  the  winter,  with  the  eold  of  the  hill.  But  I  am 
glad  you  do  go.  You  will  work  hard  ;  you  will  forget  your 
games  of  mischief ;  you  will  come  back  more  like  a  man  ; 
and  when  you  tell  me  you  have  studied  well,  and  have  got — 
what  is  it  called  ? — your  certification,  I  will  come  out  to  meet 
you  at  the  Manse,  and  I  will  have  a  wreath  of  laurel-leaves 
lor  you.  and  you  will  be  the  great  hero  of  the  hour." 

"It  is  something  to  look  forward  to,"  said  the  Whanp, 
almost  sadly.  "  And  when  I  come  back  will  you  be  just  the 
same,  Coquette  ? — as  quiet  and  happy  and  pretty  as  you 
always  are  ?  " 

K 


i3o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  quiet,  or  happy,  or  pretty,  more 
than  any  one  else,"  said  Coquette ;  "  but  I  hope  I  shall 
be  always  the  same  to  you,  if  you  come  back  in  one  year — 
two  years — ten  years." 

The  Whaup  did  not  reply  to  that,  but  he  said  to  himself  : 
"  If  she  ivould  only  ivait  two  years  !  In  two  years'  time  I 
should  have  ivorhed  to  some  purpose,  and  I  ivould  come  home 
and  asJc  her  to  marry  me." 

All  the  rest  of  their  walk  along  the  pretty  and  picturesque 
bank  he  was  restless  and  impatient  in  manner — speaking  to 
nobody,  thinking  much.  He  cut  with  his  stick  at  the  rushes 
in  the  water  or  at  the  twigs  of  the  hedge,  as  if  they  were  the 
obstacles  that  lay  in  his  way  towards  the  beautiful  goal  he 
was  dreaming  of.  At  last  he  got  into  the  yacht  again  and 
went  below.  When  the  others  followed,  some  time  after,  they 
found  him  busy  with  his  books. 

Coquette  went  to  him  and  said  : 

"  Why  do  you  read  ?  Have  I  offended  you  ?  Are  you 
angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  rising  and  going  away  ;  "  you  are  a 
deal  too  kind  towards  me,  and  towards  all  those  people  who 
don't  understand  how  good  you  are." 

Coquette  stood  by  in  blank  astonishment ;  she  let  him  pass 
her  and  go  up  on  deck  without  uttering  a  word. 

By  this  time  the  Caroline  was  lying  at  anchor  in  Loch 
Crinau,  and  the  afternoon  was  drawing  on  apace.  The  day 
had  dulled  somewhat,  and  far  out  among  the  western  isles 
that  lay  along  the  horizon  there  was  a  faint,  still  mist  that 
made  them  shadowy  and  vague.  Nevertheless,  the  Whaup 
would  have  the  skipper  give  him  the  pinnace  for  a  run  out 
in  quest  of  the  guillemot  plumage  that  Coquette  had  desired; 
and  when,  indeed,  that  young  lady  appeared  on  deck,  she 
beheld  the  tiny  boat,  with  its  sprifcsail  catching  a  light  breeze, 
running  far  out  beyond  the  sharp  island-rocks  that  crowd  the 
entrance  to  the  natural  harbour. 

"It  is  so  small  a  boat  to  go  out  to  sea,"  she  said  to 
Lord  Earlshope,  who  was  f  ollowing  the  pinnace  with  his  glass. 

Meanwhile,  the  Whaup  had  stationed  himself  at  the  prow 
of  the  small  craft,  steadying  himself  with  his  gun  as  she 
began  to  dip  to  the  waves ;  while  all  in  front  and  around 
there  opened  out  the  great  panorama  of  lochs  and  islands, 


LETTERS  FROM  AIRLIE.  131 

between  Luing  and  Scarba  on  the  north,  and  the  three  dusky 
peaks  of  Jura  in  the  south.  The  gloomy  Sound  of  Corrie- 
vreckan  was  steeped  in  mist ;  and  Dubhchamus  Point  was 
scarcely  visible ;  but  nearer  at  hand,  in  the  middle  of  the 
grey  and  desolate  sea,  lay  Maoile  Rock,  and  Ris  an  Valle, 
with  Ruisker  and  the  Ledge  apparently  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Paps.  The  bright  little  boat,  despite  her  ballast  and  her 
cargo,  went  lightly  as  a  feather  over  the  waves  ;  and  the 
Whaup  kept  his  eyes  alert.  There  were  plenty  of  birds  about 
— the  solitary  solan  poised  high  in  the  air — the  heron  calling 
from  out  of  the  twilight  that  hung  over  the  distant  shores — 
nulls  of  every  description,  from  the  pretty  kittiwake  to  the 
great  black-winged  depredator — but  in  vain  he  scanned  the 
heaving  plain  of  waves  for  the  special  object  of  his  quest. 
At  last,  however,  they  heard  the  cry  of  the  divers  down  in 
the  south,  and  thither  the  small  boat  was  directed.  The 
sound  came  nearer  and  nearer — apparently  there  were  dozens 
or  hundreds  of  them  all  about — yet  no  feather  of  one  of 
them  could  be  seen.  Then  there  was  a  swift  rustle  out 
beyond  the  boat — a  dark  moving  line,  rapidly  crossing  the 
waves — and  the  pink  flame  leapt  from  the  two  barrels  of  the 
Whaup's  gun.  The  pinnace  was  put  about,  and  run  towards 
a  certain  dark  speck  that  was  seen  floating  on  the  waves; 
while  at  the  same  moment  over  all  the  west  there  broke  a 
great  and  sudden  fire  of  yellow — streaming  down  from  the 
riven  clouds  upon  the  dusky  grey  of  the  sea.  In  this  wild 
light  the  islands  grew  both  dark  and  distant  ;  and  near  at 
hand  there  was  a  glare  on  the  water  that  dazzled  the  eyes  and 
made  all  things  look  fantastic  and  strange.  It  lasted  but  for 
a  moment.  The  clouds  slowly  closed  again  ;  the  west  grew 
grey  and  cold  ;  over  all  the  sea  there  fell  the  leaden-hued 
twilight ;  while  the  bow  of  the  boat — going  this  way  and 
that  in  search  of  the  dead  bird — seemed  to  move  forward 
into  the  waste  of  waters  like  the  nose  of  a  retriever. 

They  picked  up  the  bird — there  was  but  one.  The 
Whaup  was  not  satisfied.  They  could  still  hear  the  distant 
calling,  and  so  they  stood  out  a  bit  farther  to  sea — none  of 
them,  perhaps,  noticing  how  rapidly  the  darkness  was 
descending. 

"  There  is  a  squall  coming,"  said  the  man  at  the  tiller, 
looking  far  down  into  the  south-west. 

K  2 


132  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

The  "Whaup  saw  nothing  but  a  strangely  black  line  along 
the  misty  horizon — a  line  of  deep  purple.  He  was  unwilling 
to  go  back  then.  Besides,  both  sea  and  sky  were  sufficiently 
calm  ;  and  the  coming  breeze  would  just  suffice  to  run  them 
into  Loch  Crinan. 

"  "We  had  better  make  for  the  yacht,  sir,"  said  the  man 
nearest  him.     "  It  looks  bad  down  there." 

Unwilling  as  he  was  to  give  up,  the  Whaup  perceived  that 
the  thin  line  of  black  had  become  a  broader  band.  He  was 
still  looking  far  over  the  mystic  plain  of  the  waves  towards 
that  lurid  streak,  when  he  seemed  to  hear  an  unfamiliar 
sound  in  the  air.  It  was  not  a  distant  sound,  but  apparently 
a  muttering  as  of  voices  all  around  and  in  front,  hoarse, 
and  low,  and  ominous.  And  while  he  still  stood  watching, 
with  a  curiosity  which  dulled  all  sense  of  fear,  the  slow 
widening  of  the  blackness  across  the  sea,  a  puff  of  wind 
smote  his  cheek,  and  brought  the  message  that  those  troubled 
voices  of  the  waves  were  deepening  into  a  roar.  Near  the 
boat  the  sea  was  comparatively  calm,  and  the  darkening  sky 
was  quite  still ;  but  it  appeared  as  though  a  great  circle  were 
inclosing  them,  and  that  the  advancing  line  of  storm  could 
be  heard  raging  in  the  darkness  without  being  itself  visible. 
In  the  intense  stillness  that  reigned  around  them,  this  great 
hoarse,  deepening  tumult  of  sounds  found  a  strange  echo ; 
and  then,  while  the  men  were  making  ready  for  the  squall, 
the  water  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  became  powerfully 
agitated — a  hissing  of  breaking  waves  was  heard  all  around 
— then  the  first  blow  of  the  wind  struck  the  boat  as  if  with 
a  hammer. 

By  this  time  the  sail  had  been  brailed  up  ;  and  the 
tempest  that  now  came  roaring  along  the  black  surface  of 
the  sea  smote  nothing  but  spars  and  oars  as  it  hurried  the 
pinnace  along  with  it.  Running  before  the  wind,  and 
plunging  into  the  great  hollows  of  the  waves,  that  seemed  to 
be  racing  towards  the  shore,  the  light  boat  shipped  but  little 
water,  except  when  a  gust  of  wind  drove  the  crest  of  a 
breaking  wave  across  the  rowers  ;  but  there  came  torrents  of 
rain  sweeping  along  with  the  gale  ;  and  presently  they  found 
themselves  shut  out  from  sight  of  land  by  the  driving  clouds. 
The  Whaup  still  kept  outlook  at  the  bow  ;  but  he  had  long 
ago  laid  aside  his  gun. 


LETTERS  FROM  AIRLIE.  133 

It  was  now  a  question  of  making  the  entrance  to  the 
loch  without  running  on  the  rocks  with  which  it  is 
studded  ;  and  as  the  boat  rose  and  sank  with  the  waves,  and 
reeled  and  staggered  under  the  tearing  wind,  the  Whaup, 
dashing  back  the  salt  water  from  his  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
holding  on  to  the  prow,  peered  into  the  wild  gloom  ahead, 
and  was  near  shouting  joyously  aloud  from  the  mere  excite- 
ment and  madness  of  the  chase.  It  was  a  race  with  the 
waves  ;  and  the  pinnace  rolled  and  staggered  down  in  a 
drunken  fashion  into  huge  black  depths  only  to  rise  clear 
again  on  the  hissing  masses  of  foam  ;  while  wind  and  water 
alike — the  black  and  riven  sky,  the  plunging  and  foaming 
sea,  and  the  great  roaring  gusts  of  the  gale  that  came 
tearing  up  from  the  south — seemed  sweeping  onward  for 
those  dusky  and  jagged  points  which  formed  the  nearest  line 
of  land. 

Coquette  was  standing  on  deck,  her  one  small  hand 
clinging  to  the  cold  steel  shrouds,  while  her  face,  terror- 
stricken  and  anxious,  was  fixed  on  the  blackness  of  the  storm 
that  raged  outside  the  troubled  stillness  of  the  harbour. 
Lord  Earlshope  begged  her  to  go  below  from  the  fierce 
torrents  of  the  rain  ;  and  when  she  paid  no  heed  to  him,  he 
brought  a  heavy  mantle,  and  covered  her  with  it  from  head 
to  foot.  She  spoke  not  a  word  ;  and  only  trembled  slightly 
when  the  wind  came  in  with  a  tierce  cry  from  that  angry 
warring  of  the  elements  that  was  going  on  beyond  the 
islands. 

The  darkness  fell  fast ;  and  yet  as  far  as  they  could  see  there 
was  no  speck  of  a  boat  coming  in  from  the  wild  and  moving 
waste  of  grey.  To  the  girl  standing  there  and  gazing  out,  it 
appeared  as  though  the  horizon  of  the  other  world — that 
mystic  margin  on  which,  in  calmer  moments,  we  seem  to  see 
the  phantoms  of  those  who  have  been  taken  from  us  ja^sing 
in  a  mournful  procession,  speechless  and  cold-eyed,  giving  to 
us  no  sign  of  recognition — had  come  close  and  near,  and 
might  have  withdrawn  behind  its  shadowy  folds  all  the  traces 
of  life  which  the  sea  held.  Could  it  be  that  the  black  rail  of 
death  had  fallen  just  beyond  those  gloomy  islands,  and 
hidden  for  ever  from  mortal  eyes  that  handful  of  anxious 
men  who  had  lately  been  struggling  towards  the  shore  ? 
Was  the  bright  young  existence  she  had  grown  familiar  with, 


134  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and  almost  learned  to  love,  now  snatched  away  without  one 
mute  pressure  of  the  hand  to  say  farewell  ?  She  stood  there 
as  if  in  a  dream  ;  and  the  things  that  passed  before  her  eyes 
had  become  spectral  and  ghastly.  She  scarcely  knew  that 
she  heard  voices.  She  clung  to  the  steel  ropes — there  was 
something  like  a  faint  "  hurrah  !  "  wafted  in  with  the 
tumult  of  the  sea — there  was  the  vision  of  a  face  gleaming 
red  and  joyous  with  the  salt  spray  and  the  rain — and  then 
she  knew  that  she  was  sinking,  with  a  sound  as  of  the  sea 
closing  over  her  head. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

COQUETTE   IS   TKOUBLED. 

The  gale  blew  hard  all  that  evening  ;  but  towards  mid- 
night the  sky  cleared  ;  and  the  large  white  moon  rose  wild 
and  swift,  into  the  luminous  violet  vault,  that  was  still 
crossed  by  ragged  streaks  of  grey  cloud  hurrying  over  from 
the  sea.  All  along  the  dark  islands  the  mournful  wash  of 
the  waves  could  be  heard  ;  and  here,  in  the  quiet  of  the 
bay,  the  wind  brought  a  fresh  and  salt  flavour  with  it,  as  it 
blew  in  gusts  about,  and  swept  onward  to  stir  the  birches 
and  brackens  of  the  hills.  The  "Whaup  sat  up  on  deck  with 
Lord  Earlshope,  who  was  •  smoking ;  and  they  spoke  in 
undertones,  for  all  was  quiet  below. 

"  You  will  get  to  Oban  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  the  Whaup, 
after  some  profound  meditation. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Earlshope. 

"I  shall  leave  you  then,  and  go  back  by  coach  or 
steamer." 

"  Has  your  adventure  of  this  afternoon  frightened  you  ?  " 

"  Faith,  no  !  My  only  fright  was  when  my  cousin 
fainted  ;  and  I  wished,  when  I  saw  that,  that  every 
guillemot  that  ever  lived  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
But  I  am  getting  sick  of  idleness." 

Earlshope  laughed. 

"  You  may  laugh,"  said  the  Whaup  ;  "  but  it  is  true. 
You  have  earned  the  right  to  be  idle,  because  you  are  a  man. 
For  a  young  fellow  like  me,  with  all  the  world  before  him, 
it  is  miserable  to  be  dawdling  away  time,  you  know." 


COQUETTE  IS  TROUBLED.  135 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  his  companion  ;  "  but  it 
seems  to  me  this  discovery  has  come  upon  you  rather  suddenly." 

"  All  the  more  reason,"  returned  the  Whaup  with  con- 
fidence, "that  it  should  be  acted  upon  forthwith.  I  am 
going  to  Glasgow.  I  shall  live  in  lodgings  with  some  fellows 
J  know,  and  work  up  my  studies  for  the  next  session.  There 
is  a  tremendous  deal  of  work  in  me,  although  you  might 
not  think  it,  and  I  may  not  see  Airlie  for  two  years." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  then  I  shall  be  nearer  twenty-one  than  twenty." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

""What  shall  I  do  then?  Who  knows?"  said  the 
Whaup,  absently. 

Next  morning  the  weather  was  fine,  and  the  wind  had 
calmed.  The  sea  was  of  a  troubled,  dark,  and  shining  blue  ; 
the  far  hills  of  the  islands  were  of  a  soft  and  velvet-like 
brown,  with  here  and  there  a  tinge  of  red  or  saffron. 
The  Caroline  was  soon  got  under  weigh,  and  began  to  open 
out  the  successive  headlands  and  bays  as  she  stood  away 
towards  the  north. 

Coquette  came  on  deck,  and  looked  out  on  the  sea  with  an 
involuntary  shudder.  Then  she  turned  to  find  the  Whaup 
regarding  her  with  rather  a  serious  and  thoughtful  look. 

"  Ah,  you  wicked  boy,  to  make  me  so  fearful  yesterday 
evening  !  "  she  said. 

"  But  you  are  quite  well  this  morning  ? "  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite  well,"  she  said  ;  and  the  brightness 
of  her  face  and  of  her  soft  dark  eyes  was  sufficient  evidence. 

"And  I  got  you  the  guillemot  after  all,"  said  the  Whaup, 
with  some  pride.  "One  of  the  sailors  is  preparing  both 
the  breast  and  the  pinions  for  you,  and  you  can  wear  either 
you  like." 

"  For  your  sake,  when  you  are  away  in  Glasgow,"  she 
said  with  a  smile.  "  I  did  hear  what  you  said  last  night 
to  Lord  Earlshope.  I  could  not  sleep  with  thinking  of  the 
black  water,  and  the  wind,  and  the  cry  of  the  waves.  And 
will  you  go  away  from  us  now  altogether  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  away  sooner  or  later,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  But  it  is  a  little  time  until  we  all  go  back.  Your 
father;  he  cannot  remain  long." 


136  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  But  I  have  become  restless,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  some 
impatience.' 

"  And  you  are  anxious  to  go  away  ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  It 
is  no  compliment  to  us  ;  but  no,  I  will  not  speak  like  that 
to  you.  I  do  think  you  are  right  to  go.  I  will  hear  of 
you  in  Glasgow  ;  I  will  think  of  you  every  day  ;  and  you 
will  work  hard,  just  as  if  I  could  see  you  and  praise  you  for 
doing  it.  Then,  you  know,  some  day  a  long  way  off,  it 
may  be  a  rainy  morning  at  Airlie,  or  perhaps  even  a  bright 
day,  and  we  shall  see  you  come  driving  up  in  the  dog- 
cart  " 

"  Just  as  you  came  driving  up  a  few  months  ago.  Does 
it  nob  seem  a  long  time  since  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  long  time,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  but  I  do  think  this 
is  the  best  part  of  it." 

The  attention  of  everybody  on  deck  was  at  this  moment 
directed  to  the  strange  currents  through  which  the  Caroline 
had  now  to  force  herself — loug  stretches  and  swirls  in  an 
almost  smooth  sea,  with  here  and  there  a  boiling-up  into  a 
miniature  whirlpool  of  the  circling  waters.  These  powerful 
eddies,  their  outline  marked  by  streaks  of  foam,  caught 
the  bow  of  the  yacht,  and  swung  it  this  way  or  that  with 
a  force  which  threatened  to  jibe  the  sails ;  while  now  and 
again  she  would  come  to  a  dead  stop,  as  though  the  sea  were 
of  lead.  Far  away  on  their  left,  between  the  misty  hills  of 
Jura  and  Scarba,  lay  the  treacherous  Corryvreckan,  dreaded 
of  fishermen  ;  and  they  knew  that  those  glassy  swirls  around 
them  were  but  the  outlying  posts  and  pickets  of  the  racing 
and  channelled  tides.  But  slowly  and  steadily  the  Caroline 
made  head  through  the  fierce  currents,  drawing  away  from 
the  still  breadth  of  Loch  Shuna,  and  getting  further  into 
Scarba  Sound,  with  the  desolate  island  of  Luing  on  the 
right.  How  strangely  silent  lay  the  long,  lone  bays  and  the 
solitary  stretches  of  shore  in  the  sunlight !  There  was  no 
sign  of  life  abroad  save  the  hovering  in  mid-air  of  the  white 
gannet,  or  the  far  and  rapid  flight  of  a  string  of  wild  ducks 
sinking  down  towards  the  south.  But  as  they  drew  near 
the  mouth  of  Scarba  Sound — with  the  great  stretch  of  the 
Frith  of  Lorn  opening  up  and  the  mighty  shoulders  of  the 
Mull  mountains  rising  faint  and  grey  in  the  north-west — the 
solitude  grew  less  absolute.     Here  and  there  a  boat  became 


COQUETTE  IS  TROUBLED.  137 

visible.  They  came  in  sight  of  the  slate-quarries  of  Easdale. 
Then  a  long  streak  of  smoke  beyond  told  them  that  the 
great  steamer  from  the  North  was  coming  down  with  her 
cargo  of  English  tourists  from  the  hills  and  lochs  of 
Inverness. 

.They  were  all  on  deck  when  the  steamer  passed  ;  and 
doubtless  the  people  who  crowded  the  larger  vessel  may 
have  regarded  the  little  group  in  the  stern  of  the  yacht 
as  sufficiently  picturesque — the  tall  and  grey-haired  lady, 
who  had  her  hand  inside  the  arm  of  the  young  girl ; 
the  elderly  Minister,  looking  grave  and  dignified ;  Lord 
Earlshope,  seated  carelessly  on  one  of  the  skylights ;  the 
Whaup  waving  a  handkerchief  in  reply  to  several  signals  of 
the  same  kind. 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  said  the  Whaup  to  Lady  Drum, 
"  I  shall  be  on  board  that  steamer,  going  straight  down  for 
Crinan  ;  and  you — you  will  be  off  for  Skye,  I  suppose,  or 
Stornoway,  or  Cape  Wrath  ?  " 

"  AVhat  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  his  father. 

"  Has  nobody  told  you  ?  I  am  going  back  to  Airlie 
to-morrow,  and  on  to  Glasgow,  to  prepare  for  the  classes. 
I  have  had  enough  idling." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Minister,  in  a  tone  which 
did  not  betray  any  strong  assurance  that  the  Whaup  was  to 
be  trusted  in  these  his  new  resolves. 

But  Coquette  believed  him.  All  the  rest  of  that  day,  as 
the  ( 'aroline  glided  through  the  dark-blue  waters — on  past 
Ardencaple  Point  and  Barnacaryn,  under  the  steep  crags  at 
the  mouth  of  Loch  Feochan,  and  through  the  Sound  of 
K.rrera.  until  she  was  Hearing  the  calm  expanse  of  Oban 
Bay — the  Whaup  perceived  that  his  cousin  was  almost 
elaborately  kind  and  attentive  to  him,  and  far  more  serious 
and  thoughtful  than  was  her  wont.  He  himself  was  a  trifle 
depressed.  Having  definitely  stated  his  intentions,  he  would 
not  show  weakness  at  the  last  moment,  and  draw  back  from 
his  promised  word ;  but  it  was  with  rather  a  heavy  heart 
that  he  went  below  to  gather  together  his  books  and  put 
them  in  order  for  the  last  time  on  board. 

"  I  think  I  shall  sleep  on  shore  to-night,"  said  he,  when 
he  reappeared. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Coquette. 


138  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"Because  I  don't  wish  to  have  you  all  up  by  seven 
to-morrow  morning.     The  boat  leaves  at  eight." 

"And  must  we  not  see  you  off,  and  say  good-bye  ?  " 

"  "What's  the  use  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

Coquette  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said,  rather 
shyly: 

"  I  think  you  would  rather  come  with  us.  Why  not  do 
that  ?  It  is  very  sad  and  miserable  your  going  all  away  back 
by  yourself,  and  I  am  sorry  to  think  of  it,  far  more  for  you 
than  if  it  were  for  myself.     It  is  very  hard  lines." 

The  Whaup  laughed  in  spite  of  his  wretchedness. 

"  I  told  you  ever  so  long  ago  not  to  say  that,"  he  said, 
"  and  you  promised  to  remember.  Never  mind.  It's  very 
good  of  you  to  concern  yourself  about  me  ;  but  I  mean  to 
go  to-morrow  morning.     And  look  there  ! — there  is  Oban." 

"  I  do  hate  the  place  !  "  said  Coquette,  petulantly. 

She  would  scarcely  look  at  the  semicircle  of  white  houses 
stretching  round  the  bay,  nor  yet  at  the  hills  and  the  scattered 
villas,  nor  yet  at  the  brown  and  desolate  old  castle  built  high 
on  the  point  beyond. 

"  It  is  a  town,"  she  said,  "  that  row  of  bare  and  ugly 
houses,  and  the  hotels,  and  the  shops.  It  is  not  fit  for  these 
Highland  mountains  ;  it  shames  them  to  look  down  on  it — 
it  is  so — so  dirty- white  and  shabby." 

"  What  ails  ye  at  the  town  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  who  did 
not  like  to  hear  her  favourite  Oban  disparaged. 

"A  little  while  ago  you  would  have  found  Oban  quite  a 
grand  place,"  said  Lord  Earlshope — •"  quite  a  gay  land 
fashionable  place." 

"  Fashionable  !  "  said  Coquette,  with  that  slight  elevation 
of  the  eyebrows  and  the  almost  imperceptible  shrug  to  which 
they  had  all  got  accustomed.  "  Fashionable  !  Perhaps.  It 
is  a  good  promenade  before  the  grocers'  shops  ;  and  do  the 
ladies  who  make  the  fashions  live  in  those  dirty-white 
houses  ?  What  is  it  that  they  say  ? — Qui  rfest  {Ms  difficile, 
trouve  Uentot  un  asile." 

"  You  know  the  other  French  proverb  ?  "  said  Lord  Earls- 
hope— "Jeune  femme,  pain  tendre,  et  lois  vert,  mettent  la 
maison  en  desert" 

"  That  is  possible,"  said  Coquette,  "  but  it  is  not  fashion. 
You  should  see  Biarritz,  Lady  Drum,  with  its  sands,  and  the 


COQUETTE  IS  TROUBLED.  139 

people,  and  the  music,  and  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  the 
Spanish  mountains  not  far.  Even  I  think  our  little  Le 
Croisio  better,  where  mamma  and  I  lived  at  the  Etablisse- 
ment.  But  as  for  this  town  here,  if  it  is  more  pleasant- 
looking  than  Ardrossan,  I  will  blow  me  tight  !  " 

The  Whaup  shrieked  with  laughter  ;  and  Coquette  looked 
puzzled,  knowing  she  had  made  some  dreadful  blunder,  but 
not  very  certain  what  it  was.  Lady  Drum  rescued  her  from 
confusion  by  carrying  her  off  to  dress  for  dinner,  and 
explained  to  her  in  their  common  state-room  that  she  must 
be  careful  not  to  repeat  colloquialisms  which  she  had  over- 
heard without  being  quite  sure  of  their  propriety.  Indeed, 
when  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  was  explained  to  her,  she 
laughed  as  muoli  as  the  Whaup  had  done,  and  entered  the 
saloon,  where  the  gentlemen  were  waiting,  with  a  conscious 
look  on  her  face  which  considerably  heightened  its  colour. 

"  It  was  you  to  blame,"  she  said  to  the  Whaup  ;  "  I  did 
often  hear  you  say  that." 

"  Propria  qim  maribus"  said  he,  and  they  sat  down  to 
dinner. 

It  was  felt  to  be  a  farewell  celebration.  The  Whaup 
looked  grave  and  determined — as  if  he  feared  he  would  be 
moved  from  his  resolution.  Coquette  stole  furtive  glances 
at  him  ;  and  wondered  what  she  could  give  him  to  take 
with  him  as  a  keepsake.  The  Minister  furnished  him  with 
directions  about  certain  things  to  be  done  at  Airlie  ;  Lady 
I  )rum  made  him  promise  to  come  and  see  her  when  she  went 
to  Glasgow  ;  and  Lord  Earlshope  persuaded  him  to  remain 
on  board  that  night  and  go  ashore  in  the  morning. 

When  they  went  on  deck  after  dinner,  it  was  a  beautiful 
dear  night,  with  an  almost  full  moon  throwing  a  flood  of 
silver  across  the  bay  from  over  the  dusky  island  of  Kerrera. 
Above  the  town  the  shoulders  of  the  hills  were  touched  with 
a  pale  and  sombre  grey  ;  but  a  keener  light  shone  along  the 
white  fronts  of  the  houses  close  by  the  shore  ;  while  nearer 
at  hand  it  touched  the  masts  and  rigging  of  the  various  craft, 
and  threw  sharp  black  shadows  on  the  deck  of  the  Caroline. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Cassilis  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  when  she 
had  taken  her  accustomed  seat. 

At  the  same  moment  they  heard  the  first  soft  notes  of  the 
harmonium  ;  and  presently  there  rose  into  the  still  night 


140  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  clear,  and  sweet,  and  melancholy  cadence  of  Mendelssohn's 
gondola-song.  The  empty  silence  of  the  bay  seemed  to  grow 
full  of  this  rich  and  harmonious  music  ;  until  one  scarcely 
knew  that  the  sounds  were  coming  from  the  open  cabin 
skylight  which  gleamed  an  oblong  patch  of  yellow  fire  in 
the  dusk.  The  night  seemed  to  be  as  full  of  music  as  of 
moonlight  ;  it  was  in  the  air  all  around  ;  it  was  a  part  of 
the  splendour  of  the  sky,  and  scarcely  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  lapping  of  the  water  along  the  side  of  the  boat. 
But  suddenly  she  changed  the  key,  and  with  sharp  and 
powerful  chords  struck  out  the  proud  and  ringing  melody 
of  "  Drumclog."  The  old  Scotch  psalm-tune  stirred  the 
Whaup,  as  a  trumpet  might  stir  the  heart  of  a  dragoon. 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  the 
plaintive  gondola-music  had  been  stifling  him. 

"  What  a  grand  tune  that  Drumclog  is,"  he  said.  "  It 
means  business.  I  dare  say  the  old  troopers  sang  it  with 
their  teeth  set  hard,  and  their  hand  on  their  musket- 
barrels.     But  did  you  ever  hear  it  played  like  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  wonderful — wonderful !  "  said  the  Minister,  with 
his  sad,  grey  eyes  fixed  upon  the  moonlit  sea,  under  the 
shadows  of  the  lonely  island. 

You  should  have  seen  the  Whaup  the  next  morning, 
bustling  about  with  a  determined  air,  and  making,  from 
time  to  time,  a  feeble  effort  to  whistle.  Coquette  had 
been  up  before  any  one  on  board,  and  now  sat,  mute 
and  pale,  watching  his  preparations.  Sometimes  she 
turned  to  look  towards  the  quay,  where  the  vessels  lay 
under  the  yellow  and  misty  sunlight  of  the  autumn 
morning. 

Then  the  great  steamer  came  round  the  point.  The 
Whaup  jumped  into  the  gig  after  having  shaken  hands 
with  everybody  and  the  boat  was  pushed  off. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Coquette,  "  I  do  wish  to  go  with 
you  to  the  steamer." 

So  she,  also,  got  into  the  boat ;  and  together  they  went 
in  to  the  quay,  and  got  ashore.  The  steamer  arrived,  and 
the  Whaup — still  trying  at  times  to  whistle — went  on 
board.     The  first  bell  was  rung. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Coquette,  holding  one  of  his  hands  in 
both  of  hers.     "  You  will  write  to  me  often,  often  ;  and 


COQUETTE  IS  TROUBLED.  141 

when  I  go  back  to  Airlie  I  will  write  to  you  every  week, 
ami  tell  you  what  is  going  on  with  all  the  people — even 
with  Lees i chess  also.  And  I  will  go  to  see  you  at  Glasgow, 
if  you  will  not  come  to  Airlie  before  you  have  become 
a  great  man." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  "Whaup  was  waving  his 
handkerchief  to  her  as  the  steamer  steamed  away  down  the 
Sound  of  Kerrera  ;  and  Coquette  stood  on  the  quay, 
looking  wistfully  after  the  boat,  even  until  the  clouds  of 
smoke  had  become  a  luminous  brown  in  the  morning 
sunlight. 


BJ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON  THE   SEASHORE. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  of  a  great  secret,"  said 
Coquette  to  Lord  Earlshope  that  morning,  "when  we  shall 
have  the  chance.    It  is  very  important." 

"  I  shall  remember  to  make  the  chance,"  said  he, 
"  especially  as  Lady  Dram  wants  to  go  round  and  see 
Dunstaffnage.    You  must  come  with  us." 

The  Minister  preferred  to  remain  in  the  yacht.  The 
fact  is,  he  was  composing  a  sermon  on  the  judgment  that 
befell  Jonah ;  and  was  engaged  in  painting  a  picture  of 
the  storm,  with  powerful  colours  borrowed  from  his 
experiences  in  Loch  Crinan.  He  wras  busy  with  the  task  ; 
for  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  preach  the  sermon  next  day — 
being  Sunday — to  the  small  congregation  on  board.  So  it 
was  that  the  others  started  without  him  ;  and  drove  over 
in  a  hired  trap  by  the  road  which  leads  past  the  small 
Lochan-dhu.  In  time  they  arrived  at  DunstafTnage,  and 
made  their  way  out  to  the  rocks  which  there  rise  over  the 
sea,  looking  across  to  Lismore,  and  Morven,  and  Kin- 
gairloch. 

Lady  Drum  was  a  brisk  and  active  woman  for  her  age  ; 
but  she  did  not  care  to  exert  herself  unnecessarily.  "When 
they  had  gone  up  and  examined  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle, 
when  they  had  passed  through  the  small  wood,  and  reached 
the  line  of  alternate  rock  and  beach  fronting  the  sea,  she 
placed  herself  upon  an  elevated  peak,  and  allowed  the 


142  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

younger  folks  to  scramble  down  to  the  white  shingle  below. 
There  she  saw  them  both  sit  down — Lord  Earlshope 
beginning  to  pitch  pebbles  carelessly  into  the  sea.  She 
could  hear  the  murmur  of  their  talk,  too  ;  but  could  not 
distinguish  what  they  said.  Apparently  there  was  nothing 
very  important  engaging  their  attention  ;  for  they  did  not 
even  look  at  each  other  ;  and  Lord  Earlshope  was 
evidently  more  interested  in  trying  to  hit  a  piece  of  sea- 
weed which  the  tide  had  drifted  in  to  the  strand. 

"My  secret  is  this,"  said  Coquette.  "Do  you  know 
that  papa  and  mamma  did  leave  me  a  good  deal  of 
money  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  making 
another  effort  to  hit  the  seaweed. 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  rich — that  is  to  say,  not  what  you 
English  would  call  rich,  but  rich  in  my  country.  Yet  I 
cannot  use  the  money.  What  good  is  it  to  me  ?  Mamma 
gave  me  more  jewellery  than  I  need — what  am  I  to  do 
with  my  money  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  ladies'  expenses,"  said 
Earlshope.  "  But  if  you  want  to  get  rid  of  this  burden  of 
wealth,  why  not  keep  horses,  or  buy  a  theatre,  or " 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  said.  "You  do  not  understand.  I 
mean  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  money  for  myself. 
Now,  here  is  my  cousin  who  goes  to  Glasgow  to  live  by 
himself  in  lodgings,  perhaps  not  very  pleasant.  His  father 
is  not  rich.  He  must  work  hard ;  and  your  northern 
winters  are  so  cold.  Very  well :  how  I  am  to  give  him 
money  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  problem — is  it  ?  "  said  Earlshope.  "  I 
might  have  guessed  you  did  not  wish  to  spend  the  money 
on  yourself.  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  give  it  up.  If  he  were 
a  mere  lad,  you  see,  you  might  send  him  a  20?.  note  now 
and  again,  which  most  of  us  have  found  very  acceptable  at 
college.  But  you  would  insult  your  cousin  if  you  sent  him 
money  bluntly  like  that.  Besides,  you  would  destroy  the 
picturesqueness  of  his  position.  Our  Scotch  colleges  are 
sacred  to  the  poor  student  ;  they  are  not  seminaries  for  the 
teaching  of  extravagance  and  good  manners,  like  the 
English  universities." 

"  Then  you  cannot  help  me  ?  "  said  Coquette. 


ON  THE  SEASHORE.  143 

"Oh,  there  are  a  hundred  indirect  ways  in  which  you 
could  be  of  service  to  him  ;  but  you  must  be  careful,  and 
consult  with  Lady  Drum,  who  is  going  to  Glasgow,  and  will 
probably  see  him  there.  How  fortunate  you  are  to  haw 
no  care  whatever  on  your  mind  but  the  thought  of  how  to 
do  other  people  good  !  You  are  never  anxious  about  yourself  ; 
you  seem  to  be  surrounded  by  a  sort  of  halo  of  comfort 
and  satisfaction ;  and  annoyances  that  strike  against  the 
charmed  circle  are  blunted  and  fall  to  the  ground." 

"  That  is  a  very  nice  and  pretty  speech,"  said  Coquette, 
with  a  smile.  "Twill  soon  believe  the  English  are  not  a 
barbarous  nation  if  you  make  such  long  compliments." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  looking  away  over  the 

.  and  apparently  almost  talking  to  himself,  "  whether,  if 
I  were  to  tell  you  another  secret,  it  would  annoy  you  in  the 
least.  I  do  not  think  it  would.  How  could  it  matter  to 
you  ?  " 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"  Suppose,"  said  he,  throwing  another  pebble  at  the  bit  of 
seaweed,  "  that  I  were  to  tell  you,  first,  that  you  had  no 
need  to  be  alarmed  ;  that  I  did  not  mean  to  frighten  you 
with  a  proposal,  or  any  nonsense  of  that  kind  ;  and  then 
tell  you  that  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  you  ?  Suppose  I 
were  to  do  that,  and  tell  you  the  history  of  the  thing,  it 
would  not  trouble  you  in  the  least,  would  it  ?  Why  should 
it,  indeed  ?  You  are  not  responsible  ;  you  are  not  affected 
by  the  catastrophe  ;  you  might  be  curious  to  know  more 
about  it,  even,  as  something  to  pass  the  time." 

He  spoke  with  the  most  absolute  indifference  ;  and  so  pre- 
occupied was  he  that  he  did  not  even  look  at  his  companion. 
The  first  start  of  surprise  had  given  way  to  a  mute  and 
apprehensive  fear  ;  her  fare  was  quite  pale  :  and  she  did  not 
know  that  her  two  hands  were  tightly  clasped  in  her  lap,  as 
if  to  keep  them  from  trembling. 

"  Such  is  the  fact,  however,"  he  continued,  just  as  if  he 
w  ere  describing  to  her  some  event  of  yesterday,  of  which  he 
had  been  an  interested  spectator.  "You  cannot  be  nearly  so 
surprised  as  I  am  ;  indeed,  I  don't  suppose  you  would  think 
anything  about  it,  unless  you  considered  it  as  a  misfortune 
which  has  happened  to  me  ;  and  then  you  will,  I  hope 
without  laughing,  give  me  the  benefit  of  your  sympathy. 


144  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Yet  I  am  not  very  wretched,  you  see  ;  and  you — you  are  no 
more  affected  by  it  than  if  you  were  the  moon,  and  I, 
according  to  the  Eastern  saying,  one  of  the  hundred  streams 
looking  up  to  you.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  experimenting 
on  myself,  and  deserve  the  blow  that  has  fallen.  I  have 
been  flying  my  kite  too  near  the  thunder-cloud ;  and  what 
business  had  a  man  of  my  age  with  a  kite  ?  " 

He  spoke  without  any  bitterness.  It  was  a  misfortune, 
and  to  be  accepted. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No  ! — why  sorry  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  fancied  I  was  more 
philosophical  than  I  am.  I  think  my  first  sentiment  towards 
you  was  merely  idle  curiosity.  I  wished  to  see  how  so  rare 
an  exotic  would  flourish  when  transplanted  to  our  bleak 
Scotch  moors.  Then  you  allowed  me  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance ;  and  I  believed  myself  filled  with  the  most  paternal 
solicitude  about  your  welfare.  Sometimes  I  had  doubts — 
sometimes  I  made  experiments  to  solve  them.  If  I  were  to 
tell  you  how  I  fought  against  the  certainty  that  I  had  become 
the  victim  of  an  affection,  foolish,  hopeless,  unreasoning,  you 
would,  perhaps,  understand  why  I  think  it  better  to  tell  you 
frankly  so  much  as  I  have  done,  by  way  of  explanation. 
You  might  also  be  amused,  perhaps,  if  you  cared  for 
recondite  studies.  To  me  it  has  been  very  odd  to  find  that, 
after  I  had  dissected  every  sensation  and  analysed  every 
scrap  of  emotion  I  have  ever  experienced,  another  being  has 
sprung  into  existence  by  the  very  side  of  my  lecture-table. 
That  other  being  is  also  I — looking  with  contempt  at  my 
own  anatomical  experiments.  And  there  is  yet  a  third  I — 
now  talking  to  you — who  looks  as  a  spectator  upon  both  the 
anatomist  and  the  spectral  being  who  has  escaped  his  knife. 
Do  you  understand  all  this  ?  " 

A  stone  fell  close  beside  them  ;  and  Coquette's  heart 
leaped  at  the  sound.  It  had  been  pitched  down  by  Lady 
Drum  as  a  signal  that  she  was  impatient. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  it  all,"  said  Coquette,  still  in  the 
same  low  voice,  "  but  it  is  very  dreadful." 

"  Then  it  is  not  amusing,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  offering 
his  hand  to  raise  her  up.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  boring 
you  with  a  psychological  conundrum.  You  are  not  vexed 
about  my  having  mentioned  it  at  all  ?  " 


ON  THE  SEASHORE.  145 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Coquette  ;  but  the  beach,  and  the  sea,  and 
the  far  mountains,  seemed  insecure  and  wavering  ;  and  she 
would  fain  have  had  Lady  Drum's  arm  to  lean  upon. 

"  How  could  you  be  vexed,  indeed,  except  by  the  dulness 
of  the  story  ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshope,  cheerfully.  "  You  may 
consider,  if  you  like,  that  you  never  heard  my  con- 
fission.  It  cannot  affect  you  ;  nor  need  it,  indeed,  in  the 
slightest  degree,  affect  our  relations  with  each  other.  Do 
you  agree  with  me?" 

"  Oui — yes,  I  mean — it  will  be  quite  the  same  between  us 
as  before,"  said  Coquette. 

"  You  will  not  find  me  torture  you  with  the  jealousies  of  a 
Lover.  I  shall  not  scowl  when  you  write  a  letter  without 
showing  me  the  address.  I  shall  not  even  be  angry  if  you 
enclose  flowers  in  it.  "We  shall  be  to  each  other,  I  hope,  the 
friends  we  have  always  been  ;  until  I  have  quite  recovered 
my  equanimity.  And  you  will  not  make  me  the  butt  of 
your  ridicule  during  the  process  ?  " 

"  I  shall  always  be  very  sorry  that  this  has  happened," 
said  Coquette. 

"  "Why,  of  course  !  "  said  her  companion.  "  Didn't  I  say 
so  ?  You  are  sorry,  because  it  is  my  misfortune.  In  return, 
when  you  fall  in  love — perhaps  with  your  handsome  cousin, 
let  us  say,  who  means,  I  know,  to  come  back  crowned  with 
laurels  in  order  to  win  for  himself  a  pretty  wife  somewhere 
down  in  Ayrshire — I  will  do  my  best  to  become  sorry  for 
yon.  But  then,  in  your  case,  why  should  anybody  be  sorry  ? 
To  fall  in  love  is  not  always  a  misfortune — at  least,  I  hope 
there  are  some  who  do  not  find  it  so." 

For  the  first  time  he  spoke  sadly  ;  and  the  expression  of 
Ins  face  conveyed  that  he  was  thinking  of  some  distant  time. 
When  Coquette  and  her  companion  rejoined  Lady  Drum, 
they  were  both  unusually  silent.  As  for  the  young  girl, 
indeed,  she  was  anxious  to  get  once  more  into  the  waggonette, 
and  have  the  horses'  heads  turned  towards  Oban.  In  the 
rumble  of  the  wheels  along  the  road  there  was  not  much 
occasion  to  talk  ;  and  very  little  indeed  of  the  beautiful 
scenery,  on  that  calm  and  bright  autumn  morning,  did 
Coquette  see  as  they  passed  over  the  neck  of  land  towards 
Oban  Bay. 


146  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

COQUETTE  BEGINS  TO  FEAR. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Coquette,  directly  they  had  returned  to  the 
yacht,  "  when  shall  we  go  back  to  Airlie  ?  " 

The  Minister  looked  up  in  a  surprised  and  dazed  way  from 
his  MSS.,  and  said — 

"  Go  back  ? — yes — I  have  been  thinking  of  that  too — for 
it  is  not  fitting  that  one  should  be  away  from  the  duties  to 
which  one  has  been  called.  But  you — don't  you  understand 
that  it  is  for  your  sake  we  are  here  ?  Are  you  so  much 
better  ?     What  does  Lady  Drum  say  ?  " 

The  Minister  had  now  so  far  recalled  himself  from  the 
sermon  on  Jonah  that  he  could  attentively  scan  his  niece's 
face. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "you  are  more  pale — more  languid — 
now  than  I  have  seen  you  for  many  days.  Will  not  a  little 
more  of  the  sea-air  make  you  feel  strong  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  unwell,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  same  air  of 
restraint ;  "  but  if  it  will  please  you  to  go  farther  with  the 
yacht,  then  I  will  go  too." 

So  she  went  away  to  her  own  cabin,  fearing  to  go  on  deck 
and  meet  Lord  Earlshope.  In  their  common  state-room 
she  encountered  Lady  Drum. 

"  You  two  were  deeply  occupied,"  she  said,  with  a  grave 
and  kindly  smile,  "  when  ye  forgathered  on  the  beach." 

"  Yes,"  said  Coquette,  with  an  anxious  haste,  "  I  did 
speak  to  Lord  Earlshope  about  my  cousin  in  Glasgow." 

"  It  must  have  been  an  interesting  subject,  for  ye  never 
took  your  eyes  from  watching  the  toe  of  your  boot,  which 
was  peeping  from  under  your  dress  ;  and  he,  I  am  sure, 
would  not  have  noticed  a  man-of-war  had  it  come  round 
the  point.  Dear,  dear  me  !  I  willna  scold  you  ;  but  to 
come  so  soon,  ye  know,  after  your  poor  cousin  left  ye ." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  said  Coquette,  hurriedly,  as  she  took  her 
friend's  hand  in  hers  ;  "  you  must  not  talk  like  that.  You 
do  not  know  that  I  have  just  been  to  my  uncle  to  ask  him 
to  go  home." 

Lady  Drum  began  to  look  more  serious.    She  had  been 


COQUETTE  BEGINS  TO  FEAR.  147 

bantering  the  young  girl  in  the  fashion  that  most  elderly 

Eeople  love  ;  but  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was  actually 
itting  the  mark.  This  sudden  wish  on  the  part  of 
Coquette  to  return  to  Airlic — what  could  it  mean  ?  Con- 
siderably startled,  the  old  lady  saw  for  the  first  time  that 
there  was  real  danger  ahead  ;  and  she  asked  Coquette  to  sit 
down  and  have  a  talk  with  her,  in  a  voice  so  solemn  that 
Coquette  was  alarmed,  and  refused. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  talk.  It  is  nothing.  You 
imagine  more  than  is  true.  All  that  I  wish  is  to  leave  this 
voyage  when  it  pleases  you  and  my  uncle." 

But  Lady  Drum  was  not  to  be  gainsaid  ;  she  felt  it  to 
be  her  duty  to  warn  Coquette.  Lord  Earlshope,  she  said, 
was  a  man  whom  it  was  necessary  to  understand.  He  had 
been  accustomed  to  luxurious  indolence  all  his  days,  and 
might  drift  into  a  position  which  would  compromise  more 
than  himself.  He  had  a  dangerous  habit  of  regarding 
himself  as  a  study,  and  experimenting  on  himself,  without 
reflecting  that  others  might  suffer.  Then,  again,  he  had 
so  resolutely  avoided  introductions  to  rich  and  charming 
young  ladies  who  had  visited  Castle  Cawmil,  that  she — Lady 
Drum — was  convinced  he  had  some  rooted  aversion  to  the 
consideration  of  marriage — that  he  would  never  many. 

"  Have  ye  never  heard  him  talk  about  marriage,  and  the 
mistakes  that  young  men  make  ?  He  is  as  bitter  about 
that  as  if  he  was  an  old  man  of  sixty,  or  as  if  he  had  made 
a  foolish  marriage  himself.  Perhaps  he  has,"  she  continued, 
with  a  smile  ;  "but  his  success  in  concealing  it  all  tl 
years  must  be  a  credit  to  him." 

"  All  that  does  not  concern  me,"  said  Coquette,  with  a 
sort  of  piteous  deprecation  in  her  tone.  "  Why  do  you 
speak  to  me  about  Lord  Earlshope's  marriage  ?  I  do  not 
rare  if  he  has  been  in  fifty  marriages." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  are  suddenly  anxious  to  go 
home  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  bending  her  grave  and  kind 
eyes  upon  the  girl. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  touch  of 
haxdeur  in  her  voice,  as  she  turned  abruptly  away  and 
walked  out. 

She  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  companion-steps.  Which 
wav    should    she    choose  ?      Overhead    she    heard    Lord 

L  2 


148  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Earlshope  talking  to  the  skipper,  who  was  getting  the  yacht 
under  canvas  to  resume  the  voyage.  In  the  saloon  sat  her 
uncle,  deep  in  the  intricacies  of  Scotch  theology.  Behind 
her  was  the  elderly  lady  from  whom  she  had  just  broken 
away  with  a  gesture  of  indignant  pride.  For  a  minute  or 
two  she  remained  irresolute,  though  the  firmness  of  her  lips 
showed  that  she  was  still  smarting  from  what  she  had  con- 
sidered an  unwarrantable  interference.  Then  she  went 
gently  back  to  the  state-room  door,  opened  it,  walked  over 
to  where  Lady  Drum  sat,  and  knelt  down  penitently  and 
put  her  head  in  her  lap. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  or  offended  with  me,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  I  would  tell  you 
what  you  ask,  but  it  is  not  my  secret,  Lady  Drum  ;  I  must 
not,  indeed,  tell  you.  It  is  because  you  are  so  good  a 
friend  that  you  ask  ;  but — but — but  it  is  no  matter  ;  and 
will  you  help  me  to  go  back  soon  to  Airlie  ?  " 

"  Help  you  ? — yes,  I  will,"  said  Lady  Drum,  in  the  same 
kindly  way,  although  it  was  but  natural  she  should  feel  a 
little  hurt  at  having  her  curiosity  baffled.  She  put  her 
hand  in  a  gracious  and  stately  fashion  on  the  young  girl's 
head,  and  said  :  "  You  have  a  right  to  keep  your  own 
secrets  if  you  choose  ;  far  be  it  from  me  to  ask  you  to  give 
them  up.  But  should  you  want  to  confide  in  a  person  who 
has  some  experience  o'  life,  and  is  anxious  to  do  ye  every 
service,  you  have  but  to  come  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Coquette,  gratefully.  "  I 
will  be  as  your  own  daughter  to  you." 

"And  about  this  going  back,"  continued  Lady  Drum. 
"  It  would  look  strange  to  turn  at  this  point,  just  after 
letting  your  cousin  go  home  by  himself.  "We  shall  have  the 
best  part  o'  the  thing  over  in  a  couple  o'  days,  when  we  get 
up  to  Skye ;  and  then,  if  ye  like,  we  can  go  back  by  the 
steamer." 

"  Two  more  days  ! "  said  Coquette,  almost  wildly,  as 
she  started  to  her  feet — "  two  more  days !  How  can  I 
bear " 

She  caught  herself  up  and  was  silent. 

"  There  is  something  in  all  this  that  ye  keep  back,"  said 
Lady  Drum.  "  I  do  not  blame  ye  ;  but  when  it  suits  ye  to 
be  more  frank  wi'  me  ye  will  no  find  yourself  wi'  a  backward 


COQUETTE  BEGINS  TO  FEAR.  149 

friend.  Now  we  will  go  upon  the  deck  and  see  what's  to 
the  fore." 

Coquette  was  glad  to  go  on  deck  under  this  safe-conduct. 
Yet  what  had  she  to  fear  ?  Lord  Earlshope  had  made  a 
certain  communication  to  her  with  the  obvious  belief  that 
she  would  treat  it  as  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  herself. 
Was  she  not,  according  to  his  own  account,  surrounded  by 
a  halo  of  self-content  which  made  her  independent  of  the 
troubles  which  afflicted  others  ? 

"But  I  am  not  selfish,"  she  had  bitterly  thought  to 
herself  as  they  were  driving  back  to  Oban.  "  Why  should 
he  think  I  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  statue  or  a  picture  ? 
Is  it  that  the  people  of  this  country  do  not  understand  it  if 
you  are  comfortable  and  careless  for  the  moment  ?  " 

When  they  now  went  on  deck  Lord  Earlshope  came 
forward  as  though  he  had  utterly  forgotten  that  conversa- 
tion on  the  beach  at  Dunstaffnage,  and  placed  Coquette  and 
her  companion  in  a  position  so  that  they  could  see  the  bay, 
and  the  houses,  and  the  rocks  of  Dunolly,  which  they  were 
now  leaving  behind.  Coquette  bade  good-bye  to  Oban 
with  but  little  regret.  Perhaps  she  was  chiefly  thinking 
that  in  a  few  minutes  they  would  come  in  sight  of  that 
curved  indentation  of  the  coast  which  would  remind  Lord 
Earlshope  of  what  had  happened  there.  And,  indeed,  as 
they  stood  away  over  towards  the  Sound  of  Mull,  with  the 
dark  mountains  of  Morven  in  the  north,  and  the  blue  waters 
of  the  Atlantic  stretching  far  into  the  south,  they  actually 
came  in  sight  of  those  tiny  bays  which  they  had  visited  in 
the  morning. 

"  Do  you  recognise  the  place  ?  "  asked  Lord  Earlshope, 
carelessly,  of  Lady  Dm  m. 

Then  he  turned  to  Coquette  and  bade  her  admire  the 
beautiful  and  soft  colours  of  the  Morven  hills,  where  the 
sunlight  brought  out  the  warm  tints  of  the  rusty  bracken 
and  the  heather,  through  the  pearly  grey  of  the  mist  and 
the  heat. 

"  It  is  very  lonely,"  said  Coquette,  looking  wistfully  round 
the  far  shores  ;  "  I  do  not  see  any  sign  of  life  among  those 
mountains  or  near  the  sea." 

"You  would  not  enjoy  a  long  visit  to  these  places," 
said  Earlshope,  with  a  smile.     "  I  imagine  that  the  constant 


ISO  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

sight  of  the  loneliness  of  the  mountains  would  make  you 
miserable.  Does  not  the  sea  look  sad  to  you  ?  I  have 
fancied  I  noticed  a  sense  of  relief  on  your  face  when  we  have 
settled  down  in  the  evening  to  a  comfortable  chat  in  the 
saloon,  and  have  shut  out  for  the  night  the  water,  and  the 
solitary  hills,  and  the  sky." 

She  did  not  answer  ;  nor  could  she  understand  how  he 
spoke  to  her  thus,  with  absolute  freedom  of  tone  and 
manner.  Had  she  dreamed  all  that  had  happened  under  the 
ruined  walls  of  Dunstaffnage  ?  She  only  knew  that  he 
was  looking  at  her  with  his  accustomed  look  of  mingled 
curiosity  and  interest ;  and  that  he  was,  as  usual,  telling  her 
of  his  speculations  as  regarded  herself .  Or  was  he  only  as- 
suming this  ease  of  manner  to  dissipate  her  fears  and  restore 
their  old  relations  ?  Was  he  only  feigning  indifference  in 
order  to  remove  her  constraint  ? 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon,  when  they  had  gone  up 
through  the  Sound  of  Mull,  and  were  drawing  near  to  their 
anchorage  in  Tobermory  Bay,  that  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her  alone.  Lady  Drum  had  gone  below,  and 
Coquette  suddenly  found  herself  defenceless. 

"  Come,  Miss  Cassilis,"  he  said,  "  have  it  out  with  me 
now.  You  have  been  avoiding  me  all  day,  to  punish  me  for 
my  foolish  disclosure  of  this  morning.  Is  that  the  case  ? 
Did  I  commit  a  blunder  ?  If  I  did,  you  must  pardon  me  ; 
I  did  not  fancy  you  would  have  wasted  a  second  thought  on 
the  matter.  And,  indeed,  I  cannot  afford  to  have  you  vexed 
by  my  indiscretion  ;  it  is  not  natural  for  you  to  look  vexed." 

"  If  I  am  vexed,"  she  said,  looking  down,  and  yet  speak- 
ing rather  warmly,  "  it  is  to  hear  you  speak  of  me  so.  You 
do  seem  to  think  me  incapable  of  caring  for  any  one  but 
myself  ;  you  think  I  should  not  be  human  ;  not  interested  in 
my  friends,  but  always  thinking  of  myself  ;  always  pleased  ; 
always  with  one  look,  like  a  picture.  It  is  not  true.  I  am 
grieved  when  my  friends  are  grieved — I  cannot  be  satisfied 
and  pleased  when  they  are  in  trouble." 

"Surely  you  have  no  need  to  tell  me  that,"  he  said. 
"  When  your  face  is  clouded  with  cares,  I  know  they  are  not 
your  cares,  and  that  you  are  far  too  ready  to  accept  the 
burden  of  other  people's  worries.  But  I  maintain  you  have 
no  right  to  do  so.     It  is  your  business — your  duty — to  be 


COQUETTE  BEGINS  TO  FEAR.  151 

pleased,  satisfied,  contented ;  to  make  other  people  happy  by 
looking  at  your  happiness.  It  is  natural  to  you  to  be  happy. 
Why,  then,  should  you  for  a  moment  suffer  yourself  to  be 
annoyed  by  what  I  told  you  this  morning  ?  I  see  I  made  a 
mistake.  You  must  forget  it.  I  fancied  I  might  talk  to 
you  about  it  without  its  troubling  you  more  than  the  looking 
at  a  new  vessel  on  the  horizon  would  trouble  you " 

"  And  you  believe  me,  therefore,"  she  said,  with  some 
indignation  in  her  voice,  "  a  mere  doll — a  baby — incapable 
of  understanding  the  real  human  anxieties  around  me  ? 
Perhaps  you  are  right.  Perhaps  I  do  not  care  for  any- 
thing but  my  own  pleasure  ;  but  it  is  not  flattery  to  tell 
me  so." 

With  that  she  walked  away  from  him  and  rejoined  Lady 
Drum,  who  had  again  come  on  deck."  Earlshope  had  no 
further  chance  of  speaking  a  word  to  her.  At  dinner,  in 
the  evening,  Coquette  was  silent,  and  her  face  was  downcast 
and  troubled.  When  she  spoke,  it  was  to  Lady  Drum, 
towards  whom  she  was  obediently  and  almost  piteously 
attentive. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TOUCHING  CERTAIN  PROBLEMS. 

Very  singular  in  appearance  was  the  small  congregation 
grouped  on  the  deck  of  the  Caroline,  to  listen  to  Mr.  Cassilis's 
sermon,  on  that  quiet  Sunday  morning.  The  Minister  him- 
self stood  erect  and  firm,  with  his  grey  hair — for  he  was 
bare-headed — and  his  sunken  face  touched  with  the  early 
sunlight.  Almost  at  his  feet  sat  Lady  Drum  and  Coquette, 
the  latter  sometimes  wistfully  looking  away  over  the  calm 
sea,  towards  the  distant  shores  of  Loch  Sunart.  Lord 
Earlshope  sat  by  himself  still  farther  aft,  where  he  could 
eat  eh  the  outline  of  Coquette's  face  as  she  turned  to  regard 
the  Minister.  And  then  forward  were  the  sailors,  a  small 
group  of  bronzed  and  sturdy  men,  lying  about  in  a  listless 
and  picturesque  fashion,  with  their  scarlet  caps  gleaming  in 
the  sun.  The  background  was  the  smooth  waters  of  the  bay, 
with  a  faint  blue  smoke  rising  into  the  still  air  from  over 
the  scattered  houses  of  Tobermory. 


152  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Coquette  had  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  preface  or 
assist  the  service  with  her  harmonium  ;  but  her  prayer  was 
explicitly  refused.  Indeed,  there  might  not  have  been  much 
in  the  music  to  accord  with  the  stern  and  matter-of-fact 
exhortation  which  the  Minister  had  prepared.  It  is  true 
that,  as  he  warmed  to  his  subject,  he  indulged  in  the  rare 
license  of  breaking  away  from  his  preconceived  plan  of 
argument  and  illustration.  He  was  dealing  with  things 
which  were  now  before  his  eyes ;  and,  as  his  rude  and 
homely  eloquence  became  more  and  more  touched  with 
enthusiasm,  it  seemed  as  though  the  inspiration  of  the  sea 
had  fallen  on  him.  "  What  meanest  thou,  0  sleeper  !  "  was 
his  text  ;  and  the  cry  with  which  the  sail  ore  awakened  Jonah 
seemed  the  Minister's  own  cry  to  the  men  who  now  lived 
along  these  lonely  coasts.  Indeed,  there  was  a  singular  and 
forcible  realism  about  the  address  which  surprised  Coquette  ; 
it  was  so  different  from  the  long  and  weary  sermons  on 
doctrine  to  which  she  had  of  late  been  accustomed.  The 
Minister  had  borrowed  all  his  imagery  from  his  recent 
experiences.  He  described  the  storm — the  rushing  of  the 
water — the  gloom  of  the  hills — the  creaking  of  cordage 
— until  you  could  have  fancied  that  Jonah  was  actually 
trying  to  make  for  Crinan  Bay.  The  sailors  were  thoroughly 
aroused  and  interested.  It  was  to  them  a  thrilling  and 
powerful  narrative  of  something  that  had  actually  happened  ; 
something  a  hundred  times  more  real  and  human  than  the 
vague  stories  and  legends  of  the  Western  Isles — those  faintly- 
coloured  and  beautiful  things  that  happened  so  far  away  and 
so  long  ago  that  the  sound  of  them  now  is  like  the  sound  of 
a  sea-shell. 

Of  course  there  came  the  application,  which  was  equally 
practical,  if  less  picturesque.  The  fishermen,  who  were  now 
lazily  lying  on  the  grassy  slopes  above  the  Tobermory 
cottages — satisfied  with  the  drowsy  warmth  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  rest  ;  the  sailors  themselves,  who  were  busy  from  day 
to  day  with  the  mysteries  of  the  elements,  fighting  with  the 
accidents  of  the  present  world,  regarding  only  the  visible 
horizon  around  them — they  were  but  as  sleepers  asleep  in  a 
storm.  For  outside  of  this  visible  horizon  lay  another  and 
more  mysterious  horizon,  which  was  daily  drawing  closer  to 
them,  bearing  with  it  the  doom  of  humanity.     Hour  by  hour 


TOUCHING  CERTAIN  PROBLEMS.  153 

the  world  was  being  narrowed  by  this  approaching  bank  of 
clond  ;  and  when  at  last  it  burst,  and  the  lightning  of  death 
gleamed  out  from  its  sombre  shadows,  would  there  then  be 
time  to  seek  for  the  Jonah  who  must  be  thrown  overboard  ? 
The  old  man,  with  his  bared  head  and  his  eager  manner, 
seemed  himself  a  prophet  sent  up  to  denounce  Nineveh  and 
all  her  iniquities  ;  and  so  impressive  and  resonant  was  his 
voice — heard  over  the  strange  calm  of  the  sea — that  more 
than  one  of  the  sailors  had  unconsciously  turned  to  gaze  far 
out  towards  the  horizon,  as  though  expecting  to  find  there 
the  gathering  storm-clonds  of  which  he  spoke. 

After  this  forenoon  service  had  been  finished,  a  dilemma 
occurred.  The  Minister  had  been  furnished  with  no  rules 
for  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath  on  board  a  vessel,  lie 
had  no  precedents  for  his  guidance.  He  could  not  simply 
request  everybody  to  come  indoors  and  take  a  book. 
Coquette,  indeed,  resolutely  remained  on  deck. 

u  Well,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  we  are  out  o'  doors  as  much 
as  we  can  be,  and  it  would  be  no  worse,  surely,  if  we  were 
walking  along  the  street  yonder." 

Not  even  Lord  Earlshope  had  thought  of  continuing  their 
voyage  ;  that  was  a  thing  which,  on  the  face  of  it,  could  not 
be  permitted.  But  when  the  Minister  was  confronted  by 
the  difficulty  which  Lady  Drum  had  discovered,  he  did  not 
know  well  what  to  do.  He  was  averse  to  their  going  ashore 
and  walking  about  on  the  Sabbath  morning,  to  the  scandal 
of  all  decent  folk  ;  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  little 
difference  between  that  and  sitting  on  deck  to  look  at  the 
sea  and  the  houses  ;  while  going  below  and  immuring  them- 
selves all  day  long  was  out  of  the  question.  At  last  his 
natural  good  sense  triumphed.  lie  gave  his  consent  to  their 
leaving  the  boat  for  a  certain  time — in  fact,  until  the  hour 
for  afternoon  service  on  deck,  if  they  chose  ;  but  lie  would 
remain  on  board. 

"  You  will  come  ashore,  will  you  not  ? "  said  Lord 
Earlshope  to  Coquette. 

"  No ;  I  wish  to  remain  with  my  uncle,"  said  Coquette, 
hurriedly. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense  !  "  said  Lady  Drum.  "  Would  you 
have  an  old  woman  like  me  stravaiging  about  the  shore  by 
myself  ?  " 


154  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

_  "But  Lord  Earlshope  will  go  with  you,"  said  Coquette, 
timidly. 

"  That  does  not  matter.  He  is  no  companion  for  me  ;  so 
get  on  your  hat  and  come  away  at  once." 

Coquette  did  so,  and  got  into  the  gig,  determined  to  cling 
closely  to  Lady  Drum's  side.  As  they  neared  the  shore,  the 
latter  remarked  that  the  village  seemed  quite  deserted. 

"  The  fishermen  spend  their  Sundays  either  indoors  or  up 
on  the  hills,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  I  believe  the  married 
ones  prefer  the  hills." 

Perhaps  that  haphazard  allusion  to  marriage  remained  in 
his  mind  ;  for,  after  they  had  landed  and  walked  some 
distance  round  the  shore,  until  they  discovered  a  pleasant 
place  from  which  to  sit  and  watch  the  seabirds  over  the 
Sound,  he  said,  rather  indolently — 

"  I  wonder  how  many  of  those  poor  men  have  a  pleasant 
home  to  return  to  after  the  fatigue  and  discomfort  of  a  night 
out  at  the  fishing." 

As  this  was  a  problem  which  neither  of  the  ladies  with 
him  could  readily  solve,  the  only  answer  was  the  plashing  of 
the  clear  sea-water  on  the  stones.  Presently  he  said,  in  the 
same  careless  way — 

"  Do  you  know,  Lady  Drum,  that  physiologists  say  we 
become  quite  different  people  every  seven  years  ?  Don't 
look  surprised — I  am  going  to  explain.  They  say  that  every 
atom  and  every  particle  of  us  have  in  that  time  been  used  up 
and  replaced  ;  so  that  we  are  not  the  same  persons  we  were 
seven  years  before.  It  is  but  natural  to  suppose  that  the 
mind  changes  with  the  body,  if  not  so  completely.  You,  for 
example,  must  find  that  you  have  not  the  same  opinions  on 
many  subjects  that  you  had  seven  years  ago.  And  in  the 
case  of  young  people  especially,  they  do  positively  and 
actually  change  the  whole  of  their  mental  and  physical 
structure  in  even  less  time  than  that.  You  follow  this 
introductory  discourse  ?  "  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Quite,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  "  though  I  am  no  so  sure 
it  is  a  proper  one  for  a  Sabbath  morning." 

"  You  must  hear  me  out,  and  with  attention.  The  subject 
is  profound.  If  I  am  a  different  person  at  the  end  of  seven 
years,  why  should  I  be  bound  by  promises  I  made  when  I 
was  my  former  self  ?  " 


TOUCHING  CERTAIN  PROBLEMS.  155 

"  Mercy  on  us  ! "  said  Lady  Drum.     "  Is  it  a  riddle  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Shall  I  help  you  to  solve  it  by  an  illustration  ? 
Suppose  one  of  those  sturdy  young  fishermen  here,  when  he 
is  a  mere  boy  of  nineteen — undeveloped  and  quite  vacant 
as  to  experience — is  induced  to  marry  some  woman  who  has 
a  bad  nature  and  a  hideous  temper.  He  is  a  fool,  of  course. 
But  seven  years  afterwards  he  is  not  so  great  a  fool  ;  indeed 
he  has  become  another  person,  according  to  the  physiological 
theory  ;  and  suppose  the  new  fisherman  hates  and  abhors  his 
wife — perceives  the  deformity  of  her  character — is  revolted 
by  her  instead  of  attracted  to  her.  Now,  why  should  he  be 
bound  by  the  promise  of  the  former  fisherman  ?  Indeed, 
she,  also,  has  become  another  woman.  Why  should  the  old 
marriage  bind  together  these  two  new  persons  ?  It  has  gone 
away  as  the  mark  on  your  finger-nail  goes  away  :  they  have 
outgrown  it." 

Lady  Drum  began  to  look  alarmed ;  and  Earlshope, 
catching  sight  of  her  face,  smiled. 

"No,"  he  said;  "don't  imagine  me  a  monster.  I  don't 
want  to  unmarry  anybody ;  it  is  only  a  theory.  Yet  why 
shouldn't  there  be  a  Statute  of  Limitations  with  regard  to 
other  matters  than  money  ?  " 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lady  Drum,  solemnly,  "  that  I, 
Margaret  Ainslie  Drum,  wife  of  Sir  Peter  of  that  name,  am 
no  longer  a  married  woman,  but  free  to  marry  whom  I 
please  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  apparently  with  a 
sincere  joy  that  she  had  so  thoroughly  understood  his 
argument.  "  You  might  marry  me,  or  anybody — according 
to  the  theory,  you  know." 

"  Yes — according  to  the  theory,"  remarked  Lady  Drum, 
endeavouring  to  repress  her  virtuous  wrath  ;  "  of  course, 
according  to  the  theory." 

"With  that  he  fairly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  do  believe  I  have  shocked  you,"  he  said,  "  in  my 
endeavour  to  find  out  an  argument  why  that  imaginary  poor 
fisherman  should  be  released  from  his  bonds.  It  was  only 
a  joke,  you  know,  Lady  Drum  ;  for  of  course  one  could 
not  unsettle  all  the  marriages  in  England  merely  to  benefit 
one  or  two  people.  Yet  it  does  seem  hard  that  when  a  man 
is  a  fool  and  marries,  then  ceases  to  be  a  fool  and  wishes  to 


156  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

be  free  from  his  blunder,  there  is  no  hope  for  him.  You 
don't  seem  to  care  to  speculate  about  those  matters,  do 
you  ?  "  he  added,  carelessly,  as  he  tried  to  twine  two  bits  of 
grass.  "  Have  you  ever  looked  round  the  whole  circle  of 
your  acquaintances,  and  wondered — supposing  all  present 
marriages  were  dissolved — what  new  combinations  they 
would  form  in  a  week's  time  ?  " 

"  I  confess,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  some  sarcasm,  "  that 
I  have  never  amused  myself  in  so  ingenious  a  way.  Pray, 
Lord  Earlshope,  what  was  it  in  Mr.  Cassilis's  sermon  that 
provoked  these  meditations  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  are  not  of  recent  date,"  said  his  lordship,  with 
a  fine  indifference  ;  "it  is  no  new  thing  for  me  to  discover 
that  some  of  my  friends  would  like  to  be  unmarried.  My 
notion  of  their  right  to  do  so  is  only  a  phantasy,  of  course, 
which  is  not  to  be  taken  au  serieux." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  some 
dignity. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  until  they  had  strolled  along  the  shore 
some  distance  on  their  way  back  to  the  boat  that  the  frown 
left  her  face.  Her  natural  good  sense,  however,  came  to 
her  aid,  and  showed  her  that  Lord  Earlshope  had  merely 
been  amusing  himself,  as  was  his  wont,  with  idle  fancies. 
He  could  have  nothing  to  gain  personally  by  advancing 
dangerous  propositions  about  the  dissolution  of  marriage- 
bonds.  What  was  it  to  him  if  all  the  fishermen  in 
Tobermory,  or  in  a  dozen  Tobermories,  remained  up  on  the 
hills  during  the  Sundays  in  order  to  get  away  from  their 
wives  ?  So  the  grave  and  handsome  face  of  the  old  lady 
gradually  recovered  its  urbane  and  benignant  expression ; 
and  she  even  ventured  to  rebuke  Lord  Earlshope,  in  a  good- 
humoured  way,  about  the  inappropriate  occasion  he  had 
chosen  for  his  lecture  on  physiology. 

Coquette  had  said  nothing  all  this  time.  She  walked  by 
Lady  Drum's  side,  with  something  of  an  absent  look,  not 
paying  much  attention  to  what  was  said.  She  seemed 
relieved  to  get  into  the  gig  again ;  so  that  Lady  Drum 
expressed  a  hope  that  her  duties  of  companion  had  not  been 
irksome  to  her. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  am  ready  to  go  with  yon  when- 
ever you  please  " 


TOUCHING  CERTAIN  PROBLEMS.  157 

But  later  on  in  the  day  they  had  another  quiet  chat  to 
themselves,  and  Coquette  became  more  confidential. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it ;  there  is  something  wrong  in  it, 
surely,"  she  said,  with  a  thoughtful  look  in  her  eyes,  "  when 
a  young  man  like  Lord  Earlshope  seems  to  have  nothing 
more  in  the  world  to  do — to  have  lost  interest  in  everything 
— and  at  times  to  be  gloomy  and  as  if  he  were  angry  with 
the  world.  Have  you  not  noticed  it,  Lady  Drum  ?  -Have 
you  not  seen  it  in  his  face  when  he  is  talking  idly  ?  And 
then  he  says  something  in  a  bitter  way,  and  laughs  ;  and  it 
is  not  pleasant  to  hear.  Why,  he  has  lost  interest  in  every- 
thing !  Why  does  he  spend  his  time  at  home,  reading 
books,  and  anxious  to  avoid  seeing  people  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  regarded  her  with  astonishment. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  ;  "  who  would  have  thought  that 
those  dreaming  dark  eyes  of  yours  were  studying  people  so 
accurately,  and  that  beneath  that  knot  of  ribbon  in  your 
wild  hair  the  oddest  notions  were  being  formed  ?  And 
what  concern  have  ye  wi'  Lord  Earlshope's  idle  habits,  and 
his  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  said  Coquette,  calmly.  "  It  is  not  my  concern  ; 
but  it  is  sad  to  sec  a  man  whose  existence  is  wasted — who 
has  no  longer  any  object  in  it." 

"  He  enjoys  life  like  other  folk,"  said  Lady  Drum. 

"  He  does  not  enjoy  his  life,"  said  Coquette,  with  decision. 
"  He  is  very  polite,  and  does  not  intrude  his  troubles  on  any 
one.  You  might  think  he  passed  the  time  pleasantly — that 
lie  was  content  with  his  idleness.  I  do  not  believe  it — no,  I 
do  believe  there  is  not  a  more  wretched  man  alive." 

Lady  Drum  elevated  her  eyebrows.  Instead  of  haying 
one  problem  in  humanity  before  her,  she  had  now  two.  And 
why  had  this  young  lady  taken  so  pathetic  an  interest  in 
Lord  Earlshope's  wretchedness  ? 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

coquette's  presentiments. 

It  was  impossible  that  this  condition  of  affairs  could  last. 
A  far  less  observant  man  than  Earlshope  was  bound  to 
perceive  the  singular  change  which  had  fallen  over  Coquette's 


158  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

manner.  Hitherto  she  had  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  very 
personification  of  joyousness — to  live  a  graceful,  happy, 
almost  unthinking  life,  in  an  atmosphere  of  tender  emotions 
and  kindly  sentiments,  which  were  as  the  sunshine  and  the 
sea-breezes  to  her.  Why  should  this  young  creature,  with 
the  calm  and  beautiful  face,  whose  dark  eyes  showed  a 
perfect  serenity  and  placidity  of  soul,  be  visited  with  the 
rougher  passions,  the  harsher  experiences,  which  befall  less 
fortunate  people  ?  That  was  not  her  role.  It  was  her 
business  to  be  happy — to  be  waited  upon — to  be  pleased. 
She  had  but  to  sit  on  deck,  in  her  French  costume  of  dark- 
green  tartan  and  black  lace,  with  a  book  lying  open  but 
unread  on  her  knee,  with  her  hand  inside  Lady  Drum's  arm, 
with  the  clear  light  of  the  sea  and  the  clouds  shining  in  her 
face  and  in  the  darkness  of  her  eyes,  and  leave  troubles  and 
cares  and  vexations  to  those  born  under  a  less  fortunate 
star. 

All  that  was  over.  Coquette  was  distraite,  restless, 
miserable.  The  narrow  limits  of  the  yacht  were  a  prison  to 
her.  She  was  silent  and  reserved,  and  seemed  merely  to 
wait  with  a  resigned  air  for  the  end  of  the  voyage.  Had 
the  Whaup  been  there,  she  would  probably  have  entered  into 
confidences  with  him,  or  even  relieved  the  blank  monotony 
by  quarrelling  with  him.  As  it  was,  she  listened  to  Lady 
Drum  and  Lord  Earlshope  talking,  without  adding  a  syllable 
to  the  conversation  ;  and,  while  she  dutifully  waited  on  her 
uncle,  and  arranged  his  books  and  papers  for  him,  she  went 
about  in  a  mute  way,  which  he  took  as  a  kindly  observance 
of  his  wish  not  to  be  disturbed  during  his  hours  of  study. 

"  What  has  become  o'  your  blithe  spirits,  Catherine  ?  " 
he  asked  on  the  Monday  morning  as  they  were  leaving 
Tobermory  Bay.  "I  do  not  hear  ye  sing  to  yourself  now  ? 
Yet  I  am  told  by  Lady  Drum  that  the  voyage  has  done  ye  a 
world  o'  good." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  well,  uncle,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I  am 
very  well,  indeed  ;  and  whenever  you  please  to  go  back  to 
Airlie,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  too." 

"  That  is  good  news,"  said  the  Minister,  cheerfully,  "  good 
news.  And  we  maun  see  about  getting  home  again  ;  for  I 
am  anxious  to  hear  how  young  Mr.  Pettigrew  acquitted 
himself    yesterday,  and  I  would  fain  hope    there  is    no 


COQUETTE'S  PRESENTIMENTS.  159 

dissension  among  my  people  this  morning,  such  as  the  enemy 
is  anxious  to  reap  profit  by.') 

"  Have  you  an  enemy,  uncle  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"  We  have  all  an  enemy,"  answered  the  Minister,  so  im- 
pressively that  his  niece  looked  alarmed — "  an  enemy  who  is 
ever  watchful  to  take  advantage  0'  our  absence,  or  our 
thoughtlessness,  who  goeth  about  like  a  raging  lion,  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour." 

"  But  is  he  in  Airlie  ?  "  asked  Coquette,  who  was  still 
puzzled. 

"Why,  your  uncle  means  the  devil,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
gaily,  as  she  entered  the  saloon,  "  who  is  in  Airlie  as  else- 
where— especially  when  there's  whisky  afoot  and  the 
Pensioner  is  asked  to  bring  out  his  fiddle.  Come  up  the 
stairs,  both  o'  ye,  and  see  the  wonderfu'  places  we  are  pass- 
ing. I'm  thinking  we  have  got  to  the  end  o'  the  lochs  and 
the  islands  at  last,  and  there  is  nothing  left  for  us  but  to  go 
straight  out  into  the  sea.  I  hope  it'll  deal  gently  wi'  us," 
added  Lady  Drum,  with  an  involuntary  shiver. 

When  they  went  on  deck — Coquette  keeping  close  by  her 
uncle,  as  if  she  feared  being  addressed  by  a  stranger — it  was 
clear  that  the  good  weather  which  had  so  far  accompanied 
them  showed  no  signs  of  breaking.  Over  the  blue  western 
sea  there  was  but  the  roughness  of  a  slight  breeze,  which 
was  only  sufficient  to  fill  the  Caroline's  sails ;  while  the 
jagged  coast  of  the  mainland,  with  the  mountains  of 
Ardnamurchan  and  Moidart,  lay  steeped  in  a  faint  mist 
under  the  morning  sunlight. 

Lord  Earlshope  was  surprised  to  hear  the  Minister  talk  of 
returning  immediately. 

"  We  must,  at  all  events,  show  Miss  Cassilis  the  wonders 
of  Loch  Scavaig  and  Coruisk,"  he  said,  "  even  though  you 
should  have  to  go  over  to-morrow  to  Broadford,  and  catch 
the  steamer  there.  We  shall  make  Loch  Scavaig  this 
evening  if  the  wind  holds." 

"  I  hope  the  wind  will  play  no  tricks  with  us,"  said  Lady 
Drum.  "  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  suffered  in  this  very 
place  when  I  first  went  to  Skye  many  years  ago — indeed, 
when  Sir  Peter  and  I  were  just  married." 

"You  might  wait  a  couple  of  months  without  (hatching 
such  a  chance  as  we  have  to-day,"  said  Earlshope.     "  But 


160  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

to  return  to  this  question  of  your  stay.  Don't  you  mean 
to  visit  thtj  Spar  Cave,  and  go  up  Glen  Sligachan,  and 
ascend  the  Quiraing  ?  " 

It  was  with  a  dull  sense  of  pain  that  Coquette  heard  the 
reply.  The  Minister  said  there  was  no  absolute  hurry — 
that  his  niece  would  probably  like  to  visit  those  wild  and 
romantic  scenes,  of  which  she  must  have  heard  and  read. 
Coquette  accepted  her  fate  mutely ;  but  she  took  the 
opportunity  of  saying,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  to  Lady 
Drum — 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  remain  long  in  this  place — this  wild 
island.  It  must  be  horrible  and  ghastly,  from  what  they 
say." 

"  It  is  the  most  desolate  and  awful  place  it  is  possible  to 
imagine,"  said  Lady  Drum  ;  "  a  place  that  reminds  you  o'  a 
world  that  had  long  ago  suffered  a  judgment-day,  and  been 
burnt  up  wi'  fire.  For  days  after  I  saw  it  first  I  used  to 
dream  about  it — the  black  and  still  water  and  the  twisted 
rocks,  and  the  stillness.  It  would  be  fearfu'  to  be  left 
alone  there — at  night — wi'  the  sound  o'  the  burns  running 
in  the  darkness." 

Coquette  shuddered. 

"  I  will  not  go  ashore,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  reason 
for  our  going  ashore,  if  we  must  return  at  once  to  Airlie." 

So  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  stately  Caroline,  with  her 
bow  coquettishly  dipping  to  the  waves,  drew  gradually  away 
towards  the  north,  passing  the  broad  mouth  of  the  Sound  of 
Sleat,  and  coming  in  view  of  the  tall  cliffs  of  Canna, 
beyond  the  mountains  of  Rum  Island.  They  were  now 
close  by  the  southern  shores  of  Skye.  Coquette  became 
more  and  more  disturbed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was 
being  taken  to  some  gloomy  prison,  from  which  no  escape 
was  possible.  Lady  Drum  continued  to  describe  the  sombre 
and  desolate  appearance  of  the  place  they  were  going  to, 
until  these  pictures  produced  the  most  profound  effect  on 
the  girl's  imagination.  The  Caroline  seemed  to  go  forward 
through  the  water  with  a  relentless  persistency  ;  and 
Coquette,  as  the  afternoon  approached,  and  as  she  saw  more 
and  more  clearly  the  dark  outlines  of  the  shores  towards 
which  they  were  tending,  gave  way  to  an  unreasoning, 
despairing  terror. 


COQUETTE'S  PRESENTIMENTS.  161 

Lady  Drum  was  amazed. 

"  You  arc  not  afraid  o'  rocks  and  water  ?  "  she- said. 

"  Afraid  of  them  ?  No,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  am  afraid  of 
the  place — I  know  not  why — and  of  our  remaining  there. 
I  would  rather  be  away  ;  I  would  rather  be  going  back.  It 
is  a  presentiment  I  have  :  I  cannot  understand  it,  but  it 
makes  me  tremble." 

"  That  is  foolish,"  said  Lady  Drum.  "  You  have  not  been 
yourself  since  your  cousin  left." 

"  I  wish  he  were  here  now,"  murmured  Coquette. 

"  He  would  laugh  you  out  of  your  fears,"  said  the  elderly 
lady,  in  a  cheerful  way.  "  Come,  rouse  yourself  up  and 
dismiss  those  gloomy  fancies  of  yours.  We  shall  see  you 
to-morrow  on  a  little  Highland  pony,  going  round  such 
precipices  as  are  fit  to  take  your  breath  away  ;  and  you  will 
be  as  light-hearted  and  as  careless  as  if  you  were  in  my 
drawing-room  at  Castle  Cawmil  with  an  open  piano  before 
you.  By  the  way,  you  have  not  played  us  anything  since 
your  cousin  left  us  at  Oban." 

"I  cannot  play  just  now,"  said  Coquette,  sitting  calm 
and  cold,  with  her  eyes  fixed  with  a  vague  apprehensiveness 
on  the  coast  they  were  drawing  near. 

M  What  a  strange  creature  you  are,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
affectionately.  "  You  are  either  all  fire,  and  light,  and 
sunshine,  or  as  deep  and  morose  as  a  well  on  a  dark  day. 
There  is  Lord  Earlshope,  who,  I  am  certain,  thinks  he  has 
offended  you  ;  and  he  keeps  at  a  distance,  and  watches  ye 
in  a  penitent  fashion,  as  if  he  would  give  his  ears  to  see  you 
laugh  again  ;  I  think  I  maun  explain  to  him  that  it  is  no 
his  fault " 

11  No,  no,  no,  Lady  Drum  !  "  exclaimed  Coquette,  in  a  low 
voice.     "  You  must  not  speak  to  him." 

"  Hoity,  toity  !  Is  he  to  believe  that  I  have  quarrelled 
wi1  him  as  well  ;  and  are  we  a'  to  put  the  man  in  irons  in 
his  own  yacht  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  tell  him  anything  about  me,"  pleaded 
Coquette. 

"But  look  at  him  at  this  moment,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
with  sudden  compassion  ;  "  look  at  him  up  at  the  bow 
there — standing  all  by  himself — without  a  human  being 
taking  notice  o1  him — looking  helplessly  at  nothing,  and 

II 


162  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

doubtless  wondering  whether  he  will  get  a  word  addressed 
to  him  at  dinner.  Is  it  fair,  my  young  lady,  to  serve  a 
man  in  that  fashion  in  his  own  yacht  ?  " 

"  You  may  go  and  speak  to  him,"  said  Coquette,  eagerly. 
"  Yes,  you  must  speak  to  him — but  not  about  me.  He  does 
not  want  to  talk  about  me  ;  and  you  would  only  put  wrong 
things  into  his  head.  Please  go,  Lady  Drum,  and  talk  to 
him." 

"  And  what  for  should  it  rest  on  an  old  woman  like  me  to 
amuse  a  young  man  ?  What  for  am  I  to  talk  to  him,  and 
ye  sitting  here  as  mute  and  as  mum  as  a  mouse  ?  " 

"  Because — because •"  said  Coquette,  with  hesitation, 

"  because  I  think  I  am  afraid  of  this  island.     I   am  not 

angry  with  him — with  anybody — but  I — I .     Oh,  Lady 

Drum  ! "  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  won't  you  persuade 
them  to  come  away  from  this  place  at  once,  instead  of 
remaining  for  days  ?  I  cannot  do  it — I  cannot  remain.  I 
will  go  away  by  myself,  if  they  will  let  me  take  the 
steamer." 

She  spoke  quite  wildly  ;  and  Lady  Drum  looked  at  her 
with  some  alarm. 

"  I  cannot  understand  a  bit  o'  this,"  she  said,  gravely. 
"  What  for  have  ye  a  fear  o'  an  island  ?  Or  is  it  that  ye 
are  so  anxious  to  follow  your  cousin  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Coquette,  "for  I 
cannot  explain  in  your  language.  It  is  a  presentiment — a 
terror — I  do  not  know  ;  I  only  know  that  if  we  remain  in 
this  island  long " 

She  trembled  so  violently  as  she  spoke  that  Lady  Drum 
feared  the  girl  had  been  attacked  by  some  nervous  fever. 
Her  face,  too,  was  pale  ;  and  the  dark  and  beautiful  eyes 
were  full  of  a  strange  lustre,  obviously  the  result  of  great 
excitement. 

At  this  moment  some  order  of  the  skipper  recalled  the 
eyes  of  Coquette  from  looking  vaguely  over  the  sea  towards 
the  south  ;  and  as  she  turned  her  face  to  the  bow,  Lady 
Dram  felt  the  hand  that  held  hers  tighten  its  grasp,  for  the 
Caroline,  was  slowly  creeping  in  under  the  shadow  of  the 
black  Coolins. 


CONFESSION  A  T  LAST.  163 

CHAPTER  XXYI. 

CONFESSION  AT  LAST. 

Sunset  in  the  wild  Loch  Scavaig.  Far  up  amid  the 
shoulders  and  peaks  of  Garsven  there  were  flashes  of  flame 
and  the  glow  of  the  western  skies,  with  here  and  there  a 
beam  of  ruddy  light  touching  the  summits  of  the  mountains 
in  the  east ;  but  down  here,  in  the  lonely  and  desolate 
arm  of  the  sea,  the  bare  and  riven  rocks  showed  their 
fantastic  forms  in  a  cold  grey  twilight.  There  was  a 
murmur  of  streams  in  the  stillness ;  and  the  hollow  silence 
was  broken  from  time  to  time-  by  the  calling  of  wild-fowl. 
Otherwise  the  solitary  scene  was  as  voiceless  as  death  ;  and 
the  only  moving  thing  abroad  was  the  red  light  in  the  clouds. 
The  Caroline  lay  motionless  in  the  dark  water.  As  the  sun- 
set fell  the  sombre  and  overshadowing  hills  seemed  to  loom 
larger  ;  the  twisted  and  precipitous  cliffs  grew  more  and  more 
distant  ;  while  a  pale  blue  vapour  gathered  here  and  there, 
as  if  the  spirits  of  the  mountains  were  advancing  under  a  veil. 

Oddly  enough,  the  terror  of  Coquette  had  largely  subsided 
when  the  Caroline  had  cast  anchor.  She  regarded  the 
gloomy  shores  with  aversion  and  distrust ;  but  she  no  longer 
trembled.  Indeed,  the  place  seemed  to  have  exercised  some 
fascination  over  her  ;  for,  while  all  the  others  were  busy  with 
their  own  affairs,  she  did  not  cease  to  scan  with  strange  and 
wondering  eyes  the  sombre  stretch  of  water,  the  picturesque 
and  desolate  coast,  and  the  mystic  splendours  of  the  twilight 
overhead.  She  kept  apart  from  her  friends ;  and  appeared  ev«n 
to  regard  Lady  Drum  with  a  distant  and  apprehensive  look. 

Lady  Drum  resolved  that  she  would  speak  to  the  Minister, 
when  occasion  offered.  She  was  afraid  that  this  niece  of  his 
was  an  incomprehensible  young  person,  given  over  to  visions 
and  dreams,  and  requiring  to  be  kept  well  in  hand. 

Dinner  was  rather  a  gloomy  affair.  Lord  Earlshope 
seemed  to  consider  that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  a  con- 
spiracy had  been  formed  against  him.  He  was  very 
courteous  and  quiet,  but  spoke  chiefly  to  the  Minister,  and 
that  with  a  certain  reserve.  Lady  Drum  in  vain  en- 
deavoured to  be  lively. 

M  2 


1 64  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH* 

Suddenly  the  Minister  chanced  to  perceive  that  there  was 
something  wrong.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  ;  and 
at  last  he  said — 

"  This  wild  scenery  has  had  its  effect  upon  us.  "We  have 
grown  very  grave,  have  we  not,  Lady  Drum  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  are  downright  solemn,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
waking  herself  up  as  if  from  a  nightmare.  "  I  cannot 
understand  it.  Miss  Coquette — as  I  am  told  they  some- 
times ca'  ye — what  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

Coquette  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "  To  me  these  mountains  look 
dreadful.    I  am  afraid  of  them.    I  should  be  glad  to  be  away." 

Lord  Earlshope  did  not  reply  to  her,  or  endeavour  to 
reason  her  out  of  her  vague  impressions.  On  the  contrary, 
he  regarded  her — when  no  one  else  was  looking — with  a 
watchful  and  rather  wistful  scrutiny,  which  seemed  to  leave 
rather  a  sad  impression  on  his  own  face. 

The  night  was  cold  ;  and,  after  dinner,  no  one  proposed 
to  go  on  deck.  Indeed,  the  autumn  was  rapidly  closing  in 
upon  them  ;  and  there  was  comfort  in  the  yellow  light  of  the 
lamps,  the  warmth,  and  the  open  books  down  below.  Lord 
Earlshope  and  Lady  Drum  proceeded  to  engage  in  a  game  of 
cribbage  ;  the  Minister  took  up  a  bundle  of  MSS.  ;  Coquette 
receded  into  a  corner. 

Then  she  stole  out  of  the  place,  and  went  up  on  deck. 
How  wonderful  was  the  darkness  now  ! — for  it  seemed  to 
burn  with  all  manner  of  weird  and  fanciful  lights.  There 
were  white  stars  dancing  on  the  water — one  great  planet 
quivering  on  the  dark  plain  as  if  it  were  a  moon.  Then 
over  the  peaks  of  the  Coolins  there  still  lay  the  lambent 
traces  of  the  twilight — a  pale  metallic  glow,  which  was 
far  too  faint  to  show  on  the  black  surface  of  the  sea.  A 
wind  had  sprung  up,  too,  and  it  brought  with  it  the  sound 
of  the  mountain  streams  from  out  of  the  solemn  stillness  that 
dwelt  everywhere  around. 

There  came  into  her  head  the  refrain  of  a  song  which  she 
used  to  hear  the  sailors  sing  in  St.  Nazaire — 

Apres  trois  ans  d'absence 

Loin  de  France, 
Ah  !  quel  beau  jour, 
Que  le  jour  du  retour  I 


CONFESSION  A  T  LAST.  165 

"  Why  cannot  I  go  back  there  ? "  she  murmured  to  her- 
self, "where  there  were  no  miserable  days,  no  miserable 
nights  ?  I  am  terrified  of  this  place — of  the  people — of 
what  I  have  become  myself.  If  I  could  only  fly  away 
down  to  the  south,  and  hear  them  singing  that  on  the 
Loire — 

Ah  !  quel  beau  jour, 
Que  le  jour  du  retour  I 

— that  is  what  I  would  say  also,  when  I  saw  old  Xannette 
come  out  to  welcome  me — and  she  would  laugh,  and  she 
would  cry  to  see  me " 

The  tears  were  running  down  her  own  cheeks.  Suddenly 
there  stood  by  her  a  tall  figure  in  the  darkness,  and  she 
started  to  hear  her  name  pronounced. 

"  Why  do  you  sit  up  here  alone,  Miss  Cassilis  ?  "  said 
Lord  Earlshope. 

She  could  not  answer.  He  took  a  seat  beside  her,  and 
said — 

u  There  is  another  question  I  want  to  ask  you.  Why  have 
you  avoided  me  these  two  days,  and  made  me  as  though  I 
were  a  stranger  to  you  ?  Let  us  be  frank  with  each  other. 
Are  you  vexed  with  me  because — in  a  moment  of  foolishness 
which  I  deeply  regret — I  revealed  to  you  a  secret  which  I 
ought  to  have  kept  to  myself  ?  " 

••  [  am  not  vexed,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  must 
not  suppose  that." 

"  But  I  must  suppose  something,"  he  said.  "  Why  should 
I  be  your  bete  noire,  from  whom  you  must  fly  at  every  con- 
ceivable moment  ?  If  I  appear  on  deck  you  seek  refuge 
with  Lady  Drum,  or  go  below.  If  I  go  below  you  come  on 
deck.  If  I  join  in  a  conversation  you  become  silent.  Why 
should  this  be  so  ?  I  proposed  this  excursion,  as  you  know, 
for  your  especial  benefit.  The  whole  thing  was  planned 
merely  because  it  might  probably  amuse  you ;  and  yet  you 
:nv  the  only  one  on  board  who  seems  unhappy.  Why?  I 
broke  my  compact  about  returning  to  Airlie  after  seeing  you 
a  day  or  two  on  the  voyage,  partly  through  indolence,  and 
partly  because  I  fancied  I  might  make  matters  smooth  and 
pleasant  for  you  if  you  went  farther.  I  find,  on  the 
contrary,  that  I  have  become  a  kill-joy." 


166  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  so  !  "  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  There  is 
no  one  in  fault — no  one  but  myself." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  fault,"  he  protested.  "  There  has 
been  no  fault  committed  ;  and  I  want  to  know  how  the  old 
condition  of  affairs  is  to  be  restored.  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  suffering  this  restraint  from  morning  till  night.  Rather 
than  have  you  pass  such  another  day  as  I  know  you  have 
passed  to-day  I  would  row  ashore  this  moment,  and  take 
my  chance  of  finding  my  way  over  to  Broadford,  so  that 
you  should  have  no  fear  of  to-morrow." 

"  Oil,  no,  no  !  "  she  said,  in  despair  ;  "  you  must  not  do 
that.  And  you  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  angry  with  you. 
But  after  what  you  did  say  the  other  day " 

"  That  is  it,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  profound  disappoint- 
ment. "  I  had  already  fancied  my  careless  talk  was  a 
blunder,  but  I  see  only  now  how  irretrievable  it  is.  Well, 
I  cannot  help  it.  You  shall  not  suffer  the  penalty  of  my 
stupidity,  however.     To-morrow  morning  you  shall  be  free." 

So  he  went  away  ;  and  she  sat  still,  silent  and  immovable, 
with  a  great  pain  at  her  heart.  She  listened  to  the  murmur 
of  the  water  along  the  shore,  and  it  seemed  to  have  taken 
up  the  refrain  that  had  been  running  in  her  memory,  only 
that  it  was  more  vague  and  more  sad.  "  Trois  ans 
d'absence  .  .  loin  de  France  .  .  jour  du  retour"  Again 
she  was  startled  by  the  approach  of  some  one.  She  knew 
that  Lord  Earlshope  had  returned.  He  brought  with  him 
a  thick  shawl,  and  he  said,  in  a  somewhat  formal  and 
courteous  way — 

"  Lady  Drum  asks  you  to  put  this  round  you,  if  you 
prefer  to  remain  on  deck.  But  the  night  is  chilly,  and  you 
ought  to  go  below,  I  think." 

"I  do  not  know  why  you  should  speak  to  me  in  that 
tone,"  she  said,  with  some  slight  touch  of  reproach  in  her 
voice.  "  If  all  this  unfortunate  thing  has  happened,  why 
make  it  worse  ?  I  hope  you  will  not  make  us  strangers  to 
each  other,  or  think  me  ungrateful  for  all  the  kindness  that 
you  did  show  to  me." 

For  an  instant  he  stood  irresolute,  and  then  he  said  to  her 
— in  so  low  a  voice  that  it  was  scarcely  heard  in  the  murmur 
of  the  sea — 

"  And  I  have  to  thank  you  for  something  also.    You  have 


CONFESSION  A  T  LAST.  167 

given  me  back  a  little  of  ray  old  belief  in  the  sweetness  and 
innocence  of  good  women,  and  in  the  nobleness  and  the 
mystery  of  human  life.  That  is  not  a  light  matter.  It  is 
something  to  have  some  of  one's  old  faith  back  again,  how- 
ever di  urly  it  may  be  bought.  The  price  has  been  perhaps 
heavier  than  you  may  have  imagined.  I  have  striven  this  day 
or  two  back  to  make  you  believe  that  I  had  almost  forgotten 
what  I  told  you.  I  shall  never  forget  it — nor  do  I  wish  to. 
I  may  tell  you  that  now,  when  I  am  about  to  ask  you  to  say 
good-bye.  It  is  not  for  you  to  be  annoyed  or  troubled  with 
such  matters.  You  will  go  back  to  Airlie.  You  will  scarcely 
remember  that  I  ever  told  you  my  wretched  and  foolish 
story.  But  I  shall  not  go  back  to  Airlie — at  least  not  for 
a  while  ;  and  when  we  do  meet  again,  I  hope  you  will  have 
forgotten  all  this,  and  will  not  be  afraid  to  meet  me.  So 
good-bye  now,  for  I  shall  not  see  you  in  the  morning." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  made  no  response.  "What 
was  it  he  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  ? 

Moved  by  a  great  fear,  he  knelt  down  beside  her,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  ;  and 
the  sound  he  had  heard  was  that  of  a  low  and  bitter  sobbing. 
There  broke  upon  him  a  revelation  far  more  terrible  than 
that  which  had  informed  him  of  his  own  sorrow  ;  and  it  was 
with  a  new  anxiety  in  his  voice  that  he  said  to  her — 

"Why  are  you  distressed.  It  is  nothing  to  you — my 
going  away  ?     It  cannot  be  anything  to  you,  surely  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  much — your  going  away,"  she  said,  with  a 
calmness  of  despair  which  startled  him  ;  "  I  cannot  bear  it. 
And  yet  you  must  go — and  never  see  me  again.  That  will 
be  better  for  you  and  for  me." 

He  ro^e  to  his  feet  suddenly ;  and  even  in  the  starlight 
her  tearful  and  upturned  eyes  saw  that  his  face  was  ghastly 
pale. 

"  "What  have  I  done  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  if  accusing  himself  to  the  still  heavens  that  burned  with 
their  countless  stars  above  him.  "  My  own  blunders,  my 
own  weakness,  I  can  answer  for — I  can  accept  my  punish- 
ment— but  if  this  poor  girl  has  been  made  to  suffer  through 
me — that  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  Coquette — Coquette — 
tell  me  you  do  not  mean  all  this  !  You  cannot  mean  it — 
you  do  not  understand  my  position — you  tell  me  what  it  is 


1 63  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

madness  to  think  of  !  What  you  say  would  be  to  any  other 
man  a  joy  unspeakable — the  beginning  of  a  new  life  to  him  ; 
but  to  me " 

He  shuddered  only,  and  turned  away  from  her.  She  rose, 
and  took  his  hand  gently,  and  said  to  him,  in  her  low,  quiet 
voice — 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  ;  but  you  must  not 
accuse  yourself  for  me,  or  give  yourself  pain.  I  have  made 
a  confession — it  was  right  to  do  that,  for  you  were  going 
away,  and  you  might  have  gone  with  a  wrong  thought  of 
me,  and  have  looked  back  and  said  I  was  ungrateful.  Now 
you  will  go  away  knowing  that  I  am  still  your  friend — that 
I  shall  think  of  you  sometimes — and  that  I  shall  pray  never, 
never  to  see  you  any  more,  until  we  are  old  people,  and  we 
may  meet,  and  laugh  at  the  old  stupid  folly." 

There  was  a  calm  sadness  in  her  tone  that  was  very 
bitter  to  him  :  and  the  next  moment  he  was  saying  to  her 
in  almost  a  wild  way — ■ 

"  It  shall  not  end  thus.  Let  the  past  be  past,  Coquette  ; 
and  the  future  ours.  Look  at  the  sea  out  there — far  away 
beyond  that  you  and  I  may  begin  a  new  life  ;  and  the  sea 
itself  shall  wash  out  all  that  we  want  to  forget.  Will  you 
come,  Coquette  ?  Will  you  give  up  all  your  pretty  ways, 
and  your  quiet  home,  and  your  amiable  friends,  to  link 
yourself  to  a  desperate  man,  and  snatch  the  joy  that  the 
people  in  this  country  would  deny  us  ?  Let  us  seek  a  new 
country  for  ourselves.  You  love  me,  my  poor  girl,  don't 
you  ?  and  see  !  my  hand  trembles  with  the  thought  of  being 
able  to  take  you  away,  and  fight  for  you,  and  make  for  you 
a  new  world,  with  new  surroundings,  where  you  would  have 
but  one  friend,  and  one  slave.  What  do  you  say,  Coquette  ? 
Why  should  we  two  be  for  ever  miserable  ?     Coquette " 

She  drew  back  from  him  in  fear. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  you  now,"  she  said,  with  a  strange 
trembling.  "  You  are  another  man.  What  are  you  ? — what 
are  you  ? — Ah  !     I  do  see  another  face " 

She  staggered  backward  ;  and  then,  with  a  quick  cry, 
fell  insensible.  He  sprang  forward  to  catch  her  ;  and  he 
had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  Minister  hastily  approached. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  he  said. 

"  She  has  been  sitting  too  long  alone,"  said  Lord  Earls- 


CONFESSION  A  T  LAST.  169 

hope,  as  Lady  Drum  hastened  to  seize  the  girl's  hands. 
"  The  darkness  had  got  hold  of  her  imagination — and  that 
wild  light  up  there " 

For  at  this  moment  there  appeared  over  the  black  peaks 
of  the  Coolins  a  great,  shifting  flush  of  pink — that  shone  up 
the  dark  skies  and  then  died  out  in  a  semicircle  of  pale 
violet  fire.  In  the  clear  heavens  this  wild  glare  gleamed  and 
faded,  so  that  the  sea  also  had  its  pallid  colours  blotting  out 
the  white  points  of  the  stars.  Mr.  Cassilis  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  the  explanation  ;  but  it  seemed  reasonable  enough  ; 
for  the  girl,  on  coming  to  herself,  looked  all  round  at  this 
strange  glow  of  rose-colour  overhead,  and  again  shuddered 
violently. 

"  She  has  been  nervous  all  day,"  said  Lady  Drum  ;  "  she 
should  not  have  been  left  alone." 

They  took  her  below ;  but  Earlshope  remained  above. 
In  a  little  while  he  went  down  into  the  saloon,  where  Mr. 
Cassilis  sat  alone,  reading. 

"  Miss  Cassilis  will  be  well  in  the  morning,  I  hope,"  he 
said,  somewhat  distantly. 

"  Oh,  doubtless,  doubtless.  She  is  nervous  and  excitable 
— as  her  father  was — but  it  is  nothing  serious." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Earlshope. 

He  took  out  writing  materials,  and  hastily  wrote  a  few 
lines  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  folded  up  and  put  in 
an  envelope.  Then  he  bade  Mr.  Cassilis  good-night,  and 
retired. 

But  towards  midnight  Coquette,  lying  awake,  heard 
cautious  footsteps  on  deck,  and  the  whispering  voices  of  the 
men.  In  the  extreme  silence  her  sense  of  hearing  was  pain- 
fully acute.  She  fancied  she  heard  a  boat  being  brought 
round.  There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  then  the  words, 
"  Give  way  !  " — followed  by  a  splash  of  oars. 

She  knew  that  Lord  Earlshope  was  in  the  boat  which  was 
now  making  for  the  shore  through  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
All  that  had  occurred  on  deck  seemed  but  a  wild  dream. 
She  knew  only  that  he  had  left  them — perhaps  never  to  see 
her  again  in  this  world  ;  she  knew  only  that  her  heart  was 
full  of  anguish  ;  and  that  her  fast-flowing  tears  could  not 
lessen  the  aching  pain. 


170  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

LOIN  DE  FKANCE. 

A  DULL  grey  day  lay  over  Loch  Scavaig.  A  cold  wind 
came  in  from  the  sea,  and  moaned  about  the  steep  rocks,  the 
desolate  hills,  and  the  dark  water.  The  wildfowl  were  more 
than  usually  active,  circling  about  in  flocks,  restless  and 
noisy.  There  were  signs  of  a  change  in  the  weather,  and  it 
was  a  change  for  the  worse. 

Mr.  Cassilis  was  the  first  on  deck. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  the  skipper,  coming  forward  to  him, 
"  his  lordship  bade  me  say  to  ye  that  he  had  to  leave  early 
tliis  morning  to  catch  the  steamer,  and  didna  want  to  disturb 
ye.  His  lordship  hoped,  sir,  you  and  my  lady  would  consider 
the  yacht  your  own  while  ye  stayed  in  it,  and  I  will  take 
your  orders  for  anywhere  ye  please." 

"  What  a  strange  young  man  !  "  said  the  Minister  to  him- 
self, as  he  turned  away. 

He  met  Lady  Drum,  and  told  her  what  he  had  heard. 

"  He  is  fair  daft,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  with  some  im- 
patience. "  To  think  of  bringing  us  up  here  to  this  out- 
landish place,  and  leaving  us  without  a  word  o'  apology  ; 
but  he  was  never  to  be  reckoned  on.  I  have  seen  him  get 
into  a  frightful  temper,  and  walk  out  o'  my  house,  just 
because  a  young  leddy  friend  o'  mine  would  maintain  that 
he  looked  like  a  married  man." 

"  How  is  my  niece  ?  "  said  the  Minister. 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  ye,  sir,"  returned  Lady  Drum,  in  a 
cautious  and  observant  way,  "that  she  is  still  a  little  feverish 
and  excited.  I  can  see  it  in  her  restlessness  and  her  look. 
It  must  have  been  coming  on ;  and  last  night — wi'  the 
darkness,  and  the  wildness  o'  this  fearsome  place,  and  the 
red  Northern  Lights  in  the  sky — it  is  no  wonder  she  gave 
way." 

"But  I  hope  it  is  not  serious,"  said  the  Minister,  hastily. 
"  I  know  so  little  of  these  ailments  that  I  must  ask  ye 
to  be  mindful  o'  her,  as  if  she  were  your  own  child,  and 
do  with  her  what  ye  think  proper.  Is  she  coming  on 
deck  ? " 


LOIN  DE  FRANCE.  171 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Drum,  carefully  watching  the  effect  of 
her  speech  as  she  proceeded.  "  She  will  be  better  to  lie 
quiet  for  the  day.  But  we  must  guard  against  her 
having  another  shock.  We  must  get  away  from  here,  sir, 
directly." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Minister,  almost 
mechanically.     "  Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  straight  back  to  Oban,  and  from  there 
perhaps  Miss  Cassilis  would  prefer  to  go  to  Greenock  by 
the  steamer." 

The  skipper  received  his  orders.  Fortunately,  although 
the  day  was  lowering  and  dismal,  the  wind  did  not  rise,  and 
they  had  a  comparatively  smooth  voyage  southwards.  The 
Minister  remained  on  deck,  anxious  and  disturbed ;  Lady 
Dram  was  in  attendance  on  Coquette. 

The  Minister  grew  impatient  and  a  trifle  alarmed  when 
no  news  came  from  his  niece.  At  last  he  went  below  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  her  state-room.  Lady  Drum  came 
out,  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  went  with  the  Minister 
along  into  the  saloon. 

"But  how  is  she  ?  "  said  he.  "  Why  does  she  keep  to  her 
room  if  she  can  come  out  ?  " 

Lady  Dram  was  evidently  annoyed  and  embarrassed 
by  these  questions,  and  answered  them  in  a  hesitating 
and  shuffling  way.  At  length  she  said,  somewhat 
insidiously — 

"  Ye  do  not  understand  French,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Minister ;  "  I  have  never  studied  the 
language  of  a  nation  whose  history  is  not  pleasant  to  me." 

"I  once  knew  plenty  of  French,"  said  Lady  Dram,  "and 
even  now  manage  to  get  through  a  letter  to  my  friends  in 
Paris  ;  but  her  rapid  talk " 

"  Whose  rapid  talk  ?  "  said  the  Minister. 

"  Why,  your  niece " 

"  Is  it  French  she  is  talking  ?  "  said  he. 

Lady  Drum  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent ;  she  had  blurted 
out  too  much. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Catherine  is  delirious  ?  " 
said  the  Minister,  suddenly  standing  up  with  a  pale  face, 
as  if  to  meet  and  defy  the  worst  news  that  could  reach 
him. 


172  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Lady  Drum  hurriedly  endeavoured  to  pacify  him.  It  was 
nothing.  It  was  but  a  temporary  excitement.  She  would 
recover  with  a  little  rest.  But  this  tall,  sad-faced  man 
would  hear  none  of  these  explanations ;  he  passed  Lady 
Drum,  walked  along  and  entered  the  state-room,  and  stood 
by  the  little  bed  where  his  niece  lay. 

She  saw  him  enter,  and  there  was  a  smile  of  welcome  on 
her  pale  face.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dim  light,  or  the  exceeding 
darkness  and  lustre  of  the  eyes  which  were  fixed  upon  him, 
which  made  her  look  so  pale  ;  but  her  appearance  there, 
with  her  wild  dark  hair  lying  loosely  on  the  white  pillow, 
struck  him  acutely  with  a  sense  of  vague  foreboding  and 
pain. 

"  Is  it  you,  papa  ? "  she  said,  quietly,  and  yet  with  a 
strange  look  on  her  face.  "  Since  I  have  been  ill  I  have 
been  learning  English  to  speak  to  you,  and  I  can  speak  it 
very  well.  Only  Nannette  does  not  seem  to  understand — she 
tires  me — you  must  send  her  away " 

With  a  weary  look  she  let  her  face  sink  into  the  pillow. 

"  Catherine,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  great  fear  at  his 
heart,  "  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  or  pay  any  attention  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  she  said  : 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  know.  But  you  must  teach  me  how  to 
sleep,  papa,  for  there  is  a  noise  all  round  me,  and  I  cannot 
sleep.  It  is  like  waves,  and  my  head  is  giddy  and  rocks 
with  it  and  with  the  music.  You  must  keep  Nannette  from 
singing,  papa — it  vexes  me — and  it  is  always  the  same — trois 
arts  cT absence — loin  de  France — ah,  quel  beau  jour  ! — and  I 
hear  it  far  away — always  Nannette  singing " 

Lady  Drum  stole  in  behind  the  Minister,  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"  You  must  not  be  alarmed,"  she  whispered ;  "  this 
is  nothing  but  the  excitement  of  yesterday,  and  she  may 
have  caught  a  cold  and  made  herself  subject  to  a  slight 
fever." 

The  Minister  said  nothing,  but  stood  in  a  dazed  way, 
looking  at  the  girl  with  his  sad  grey  eyes,  and  apparently 
scarcely  able  to  realise  the  scene  before  him. 

"  When  shall  we  reach  Tobermory  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  In  about  two  hours,"  said  Lady  Drum. 


LOIN  DE  FRANCE.  173 

The  girl  had  overheard  ;  for  she  continued  to  murmur, 
almost  to  herself — 

"  Shall  we  be  home  again,  papa,  in  two  hours,  and  go  up 
past  St.  Nazaire  ?  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  were  there — so 
long  ago  it  seems  a  mist,  and  we  have  been  in  the  darkness. 
Ah  !  the  darkness  of  last  night  out  on  the  sea,  with  the  wild 
things  in  the  air — the  wild  things  in  the  air — and  the  waves 
crying  along  the  shore.  It  is  three  years  of  absence,  and  we 
have  been  away  in  dreadful  places,  but  now  there  is  home 
again,  papa — home,  and  Nannette  is  singing  merrily  in  the 
garden,  and  my  mamma  does  come  to  the  gate.  But  why 
does  she  not  speak  ?  Why  does  she  turn  from  me  ?  Does 
she  not  know  me  any  more — not  know  Coquette  ?  And  see  ! 
see !  papa,  it  is  all  going  away  :  the  garden  is  going  back 
and  back — my  mamma  has  turned  her  face  away,  and  I 
can  scarcely  see  her  for  the  darkness — have  we  not  got  home, 
not  yet,  after  all  ? — for  it  is  away  now  in  a  mist,  and  I  can 
see  nothing,  and  not  even  hear  Nannette  singing." 

The  Minister  took  the  girl's  hand  in  his  ;  great  tears 
were  running  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  voice  was  broken 
with  sobs. 

"  My  girl,  we  shall  be  home  presently.  Do  not  distress  your- 
self about  it ;  lie  still,  the  boat  is  carrying  you  safely  home." 

He  went  on  deck  ;  he  could  not  bear  to  look  any  more  on 
the  beautiful,  wistful  eyes  that  seemed  to  him  full  of 
entreaty.  They  carried  a  cruel  message  to  him — like  the 
dumb  look  of  pain  that  is  in  an  animal's  eyes,  when  it  seeks 
relief,  and  none  can  be  given.  Impatiently  he  watched  the 
yacht  go  down  through  the  desolate  waste  of  grey  sea,  the 
successive  headlands  and  bays  slowly  opening  out  as  she 
sped  on.  He  paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  strip  of  deck, 
wearying  for  the  vessel  to  get  round  Ardnamurchan.  It 
was  clearly  impossible  for  them  to  reach  Oban  that  night ; 
bat  surely  there  would  be  a  doctor  in  Tobermory,  who  could 
give  Lady  Drum  sufficient  directions. 

The  evening  was  deepening  into  dusk  as  they  got  into  the 
Sound  of  Mull.  Coquette  had  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep,  and 
her  constant  nurse  and  attendant  was  rejoiced.  The  Minister, 
however,  was  not  a  whit  less  anxious  ;  and  it  was  with  eager 
eyes  that  he  scanned  the  narrowing  distance  between  the 
prow  of  the  yacht  and  Tobermory   Bay.     At  length  the 


174  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Caroline  reached  her  berth  for  the  night,  and  the  anchor  was 
scarcely  let  go  when  the  Minister  got  into  the  gig  and  was 
rapidly  rowed  ashore.  A  short  time  thereafter  he  had 
returned  to  the  yacht,  bringing  with  him  the  doctor  ;  while 
Lady  Drum  had  gone  on  deck  to  see  that  the  sailors  post- 
poned the  more  noisy  of  their  operations  until  Coquette 
should  have  awakened  from  her  slumbers. 

The  Minister's  first  notion  had  been  that  his  niece  should 
be  taken  ashore  so  soon  as  they  got  near  a  habitable 
house.  But,  apart  from  the  danger  of  the  removal,  could 
she  be  better  situated  in  a  Tobermory  inn  than  in  this 
little  cabin,  where  she  could  have  the  constant  care  of  Lady 
Drum  ?  The  present  consultation  afforded  him  some  relief. 
It  was  probably  only  a  slight  fever,  the  result  of  powerful 
nervous  excitement  and  temporary  Aveakness  of  the  system. 
She  was  to  remain  where  she  was,  subject  to  the  assiduous 
attentions  of  her  nurse ;  a  physician  was  to  be  consulted 
when  they  reached  Oban ;  and,  if  circumstances  then 
warranted  it,  she  might  be  gently  taken  south  in  the  yacht 
to  her  own  home. 

Next  day,  however,  the  fever  had  somewhat  increased  ;  and 
the  wild  imaginings — the  pathetic  appeals — and  the  in- 
coherent ramblings  of  the  girl's  delirium  grew  in  intensity. 
The  bizarre  combinations  of  all  her  recent  experiences  were 
so  foreign  to  all  probability  that  her  nurse  paid  but  little 
attention  to  them,  although  she  was  sometimes  deeply  affected 
by  the  pathetic  reminiscences  of  her  charge,  or  by  the  lurid 
descriptions  of  dark  sea  scenes  which  were  apparently 
present  to  the  girl's  imagination  with  a  ghastly  distinctness. 
Yet  through  all  these  fantastic  groupings  of  mental  phenomena 
there  ran  a  series  of  references  to  Lord  Earlshope,  which 
Lady  Drum  was  startled  to  find  had  some  consistency.  They 
occurred  in  impossible  combinations  with  other  persons  and 
things  ;  but  they  repeated,  with  a  strange  persistency,  the 
same  impressions.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which 
hey  arrived  at  Oban — the  physician  having  come  and  gone 
— Coquette  beckoned  her  companion  to  sit  down  by  her. 
She  addressed  her  as  Nannette,  as  she  generally  did,  mistaking 
her  elderly  friend  for  her  old  nurse. 

"  Listen,  Nannette.  Yesterday  I  did  see  something  terrible. 
I  cannot  forget  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  with  her  dark 


LOIN  DE  FRANCE.  175 

eyes  apparently  watching  something  in  the  air  before  her. 
"  It  was  Lord  Earlshope  coming  over  the  sea  to  me — walking 
on  the  water — and  there  was  a  glare  of  light  around  him  ; 
and  he  seemed  an  angel  that  had  come  with  a  message,  for 
he  held  something  in  his  hand  to  me,  and  there  was  a  smile 
on  his  face.  You  do  not  know  him,  Nannette — it  is  no 
matter.  All  this  happened  long  ago — in  another  country — 
and  now  that  I  am  home  again  it  is  forgotten,  except  when 
1  dream.  Are  you  listening,  poor  old  Nannette  ?  As  he 
eaine  near  the  boat,  I  held  out  my  hand  to  save  him  from  the 
waves.  Ah !  the  strange  light  there  was.  It  seemed  to 
grow  day,  although  we  were  up  in  the  north,  under  the 
black  mountains,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  night-clouds.  I 
held  out  my  hand  to  him,  Nannette ;  and  he  had  almost 
come  to  me — and  then — and  then — there  was  a  change — 
and  all  the  light  vanished,  and  he  dropped  down  into  the 
sea,  and  in  place  of  Lord  Earlshope  there  was  a  fearful 
thing — a  devil — that  laughed  in  the  water,  and  swam  round, 
and  I  ran  back  for  fear.  There  was  a  red  light  around  him 
in  the  sea,  and  he  laughed,  and  stretched  up  his  hands.  Oh, 
it  was  dreadful — dreadful — Nannette  !  "  the  girl  continued, 
moaning  and  shuddering.  "  I  cannot  close  my  eyes  but  I 
see  it — and  yet,  where  is  the  letter  I  got  before  he  sank  into 
the  water  ? " 

She  searched  underneath  her  pillow  for  the  note  which 
Earlshope  had  left  for  her  on  the  night  before  he  went. 
She  insisted  on  Lady  Drum  reading  it.  The  old  lady 
opened  the  folded  bit  of  paper,  and  read  the  following  words 
— "/  was  mad  last  night  I  do  not  know  what  I  said. 
tier  mi1 ;  for  I  cannot  forgive  myself." 

What  should  she  do  with  this  fragment  of  correspondence 
which  now  confirmed  her  suspicions  ?  If  she  were  to  hand 
it  back  to  the  girl  it  was  probable  she  might  in  her  delirium 
give  it  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  who  had  enough  to  suffer  without  it. 
After  all,  Lady  Drum  reflected,  this  message  criminated  no 
one  ;  it  only  suggested  a  reason  for  Lord  Earlshope's  sudden 
departure.  She  resolved  to  retain  that  note  in  her  possession 
for  the  meantime,  and  give  it  back  to  Coquette  when  the 
girl  should  have  recovered. 

u  May  I  keep  this  message  for  a  little  while  ?  "  she  asked, 
gently. 


176  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Coquette  looked  at  it,  and  turned  away  her  head  and 
murmured  to  herself — 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  it  go — it  is  the  last  bit  of  what  is  now  all 
past  and  gone.  Why  did  I  ever  go  away  from  France — up 
to  that  wild  place  in  the  north,  where  the  night  has  red  fire 
in  it,  and  the  sea  is  full  of  strange  faces  ?  It  is  all  past  and 
gone.  Nannette,  Nannette,  have  I  told  you  of  all  that  I  saw 
in  Scotland — of  the  woman  who  did  take  my  mother's 
crucifix  from  me,  and  the  old  man  I  used  to  fear,  and  the 
Highlander,  and  my  brave  cousin  Tom,  and  my  uncle,  and — 
and  another  who  has  got  no  name  now  !  I  should  not  have 
gone  there — away  from  you,  my  poor  old  Nannette — but  now 
it  is  all  over,  and  I  am  come  home  again.  How  pleasant  it  is 
to  be  in  the  warm  south  again,  Nannette  !  I  shall  never  leave 
France  any  more — I  will  stay  here,  under  the  bright  skies, 
and  we  will  go  down  to  the  river,  as  we  used  to  do,  and  you 
will  sing  to  me.  Nannette,  Nannette,  it  is  a  pretty  song — but 
so  very  sad — do  you  not  know  that  this  is  the  day  of  our 
return  to  France — that  we  are  at  home  now — at  home  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

AFTEE  MANY  DAYS. 

It  was  a  Sunday  morning  in  winter.  For  nearly  a 
fortnight  AirJie  moor  had  been  lying  under  a  black  frost. 
The  wind  that  whistled  through  the  leafless  woods  and 
swept  over  the  hard  ground  was  bitterly  cold  ;  the  sky  was 
grey  and  cheerless  ;  the  far  stretch  of  the  sea  was  more  than 
usually  desolate.  The  winter  had  come  soon  on  the  heels  of 
autumn ;  and  already  all  the  manifold  signs  of  life  which 
had  marked  the  summer  were  nipped  off  and  dead.  The 
woods  were  silent ;  the  murmur  of  the  moorland  rivulet  had 
been  hushed,  for  its  narrow  channel  contained  a  mass  of  ice  ; 
and  the  stripped  and  bare  fields  over  which  the  piercing  wind 
blew  were  hard  as  iron. 

Then  there  was  one  night's  snow  ;  and  in  a  twinkling  the 
whole  scene  was  changed.  On  the  Saturday  night  a  certain 
stranger  had  arrived  in  Ardrossan,  and  put  up  at  an  inn  there. 
He  had  come  down  from  Glasgow  in  a  third-class  carriage, 
and  had  had   a  sufficiently  cheerless   journey.     But  now, 


AFTER  MANY  DA  YS.  177 

on  this  Sunday  morning,  when  he  got  up,  and  went  out,  lo  ! 
there  was  a  new  world  all  around  him.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly  over  the  great  white  fields  ;  the  trees  hung  heavy 
with  the  snow ;  the  straggling  groups  of  men  and  women 
coming  in  from  the  country  to  church,  moved  ghostlike  and 
silent  along  the  white  roads  ;  and  the  sea  outside  had  caught 
a  glimmer  of  misty  yellow  from  the  sunlight,  and  was  almost 
calm.  The  bright  and  clear  atmosphere  was  exhilarating, 
although  yet  intensely  cold  ;  and  as  this  solitary  adventurer 
issued  forth  from  the  town,  and  took  his  way  up  to  the  high 
country,  the  keen  air  brought  a  glow  of  colour  into  his  young 
and  healthy  face.  The  frost  had  evidently  neither  stiffened 
his  limbs  nor  congealed  his  blood ;  and  yet  even  when  the 
brisk  exercise  had  made  him  almost  uncomfortably  warm,  he 
still  kept  his  Scotch  cap  well  down  over  his  forehead,  while 
the  collar  of  his  topcoat  was  pulled  up  so  as  to  conceal 
almost  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  his  face. 

His  light  and  springy  step  took  him  rapidly  over  the 
ground,  and  his  spirits  rose  with  the  fresh  air  and  the 
joyous  exercise.  He  began  to  sing  "Drumelog,"  Sunday 
morning  as  it  was.  Then,  when  he  had  gained  a  higher 
piece  of  country,  and  turned  to  look  round  him  on  the 
spacious  landscape — when  he  saw  the  far  hills  and  the  valleys 
shining  in  the  sunlight,  the  snow  lying  thick  and  soft  on  the 
evergreens,  and  the  sea  grown  blue  and  silvery  around  the 
still  whiteness  of  the  land — he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said 
to  himself  : 

"Wouldn't  it  be  worth  while  to  live  twenty  years  in 
(Jlasgow  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  such  a  picture  as  that,  and 
get  a  mouthful  of  the  clear  air  ?  " 

By-and-by  he  came  in  sight  of  Airlie,  and  then  he 
moderated  his  pace.  Over  the  silence  of  the  snow  he  could 
hear  the  sharp  clanging  of  a  bell.  A  dark  line  of  stragglers 
was  visible  on  the  whiteness  of  the  moor,  on  their  way  to  the 
small  church,  the  roof  of  which  sparkled  in  the  sunlight. 
Beyond  that  again,  and  higher  up,  was  the  dusky  wall  of  the 
Manse,  over  which  looked  some  of  the  windows  of  the  house. 
One  of  the  panes  caught  the  sun  at  an  angle,  and  sent  out 
into  the  clear  atmosphere  a  burning  ray  of  light,  which 
glittered  over  the  moor  like  a  yellow  star. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  dead  stop,  by  the  side  of  a  piece  of 

N 


178  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

coppice.  He  heard  voices  behind  him,  and,  turning,  saw 
two  or  three  people  coming  up  the  road.  Evidently  wishing 
to  avoid  them,  he  jumped  over  the  low  hedge  by  the  side  of 
the  path,  and  made  his  way  a  little  distance  into  the  wood. 
The  thickness  and  softness  of  the  feathery  snow  deadened 
every  sound. 

But  when  he  looked  towards  the  road  again,  he  saw  that 
through  the  leafless  trees  it  might  be  possible  for  any  one  to 
descry  him ;  and  so  he  went  on  again,  gradually  getting 
down  into  a  hollow,  until,  suddenly,  he  found  himself 
confronted  by  a  man.  The  two  looked  at  each  other ;  the 
one  alarmed,  the  other  annoyed.  At  last,  the  elder  of  the 
two  called  out : 

"  Cot  pless  me,  is  it  you,  indeed  and  mirover  ?  " 

The  younger  of  the  two  men  did  not  answer,  but  began 
to  look  about,  and,  after  a  brief  search,  picked  up  a  bit  of 
string  and  wire  which  lay  plainly  marked  on  the  snow. 

"  Neil,  Neil,  is  this  how  ye  spend  the  Sabbath  morning  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  And  wass  you  thinking,  sat  bit  o'  string  wass  mine  ?  " 
said  Neil,  indignantly,  "  when  it  is  John  M'Kendrick  will 
ask  me  to  go  out  and  watch  sa  men  frae  the  iron-works  sat 
come  up  to  steal  sa  rabbits  !  " 

"  Oh  !  ye  were  sent  out  to  watch  the  poachers  ?  " 

"Jist  sat,"  said  Neil  the  Pensioner,  looking  rather 
uncomfortably  at  the  snare  in  the  other's  hands. 

"  Do  ye  ken  where  leears  gang  to  ?  "  said  the  Whaup— 
for  he  it  was. 

"  Toots,  toots,  man  !  "  said  the  Pensioner,  insidiously, 
"  what  is  sa  harm  if  a  body  rins  against  a  bit  rabbit  ?  There 
is  mair  o'  them  san  we  can  a'  eat  ;  and  when  ye  stand  in  sa 
wood,  wi'  your  legs  close,  sey  rin  just  clean  against  your 
feet,  and  it  will  pe  no  human  man  could  keep  his  fingers  aff. 
And  what  for  are  ye  no  at  sa  kirk  yersel',  Maister  Tammas  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Neil,"  said  the  Whaup,  decisively,  "  I  have 
come  down  from  Glasgow  for  an  hour  or  so  ;  and  nobody  in 
Airlie  maun  ken  anything  about  it.  Do  ye  understand  ? 
As  soon  as  the  folk  are  in  church,  I  am  going  up  to  the 
Manse ;  and  I  will  make  Leezibeth  swear  not  to  tell.  As 
for  you,  Neil,  if  ye  breathe  a  word  o't,  I'll  hae  ye  put  in  Ayr 
jail  for  poaching." 


AFTER  MANY  DA  VS.  179 

"  It  wassna  poaching,"  said  Neil,  in  feeble  protest. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  the  Airlie  folk,"  said  the  Whaup. 
u  AVhat  has  happened  ?     What  have  they  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Ye  will  ken  sat  nothing  ever  happens  in  Airlie,"  said 
Neil,  with  a  slight  touch  of  contempt ;  "  there  hassna  been 
a  funeral  or  any  forgatherin'  for  a  lang  time,  and  there  is 
mair  change  in  you,  Maister  Tammas,  than  in  Airlie.  You 
will  have  pecome  quite  manly-like,  and  it  is  only  sa  short 
while  you  will  pe  away.  Mirover,  sare  is  more  life  going  on 
in  Glasgow — eh,  Maister  Tammas  ?  " 

The  old  Pensioner  spoke  wistfully  about  Glasgow,  which 
he  knew  had  plenty  of  funerals,  marriages,  and  other 
occasions  for  dram-drinking. 

"  Is  my  cousin  as  much  better  as  they  said  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  will  pe  much  petter,  but  jist  as  white  as  the 
snaw  itsel\  I  wass  up  to  see  her  on  sa  Wednesday  nicht, 
and  she  will  say  to  me — '  Neil,  where  iss  your  fiddle  ?  '  but 
who  would  ha'  socht  o' -taking  up  sa  fiddle?  And  I  did 
have  a  dram,  too." 

"  Probably,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  Lord  Earlshope — what 
has  become  of  him  ?" 

"  Nobody  will  know  what  hass  come  to  him,  for  he  is  not 
lure  since  sey  all  went  away  in  sa  yacht.  I  tit  hear, 
mirover,  he  wass  in  France — and  sare  is  no  knowing  what 
will  happen  to  a  man  in  sat  country,  ever  since  Waterloo. 
But  Lord  Earlshope  will  pe  safer  if  he  will  tell  them  sat  he 
is  English.  Sey  canna  bear  sa  Scotch  ever  since  what  we 
did  at  Waterloo,  as  I  will  have  told  you  often,  but  sa 
English — I  do  not  sink  it  will  matter  much  harm  to  them 
Vance." 

••  1  should  think  not,  Neil.  It  was  the  Highlanders 
settled  them  that  day,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Neil,  drawing  himself  up  to  hi-* 
full  height.  "  It  wass  Corj>oral  Mackenzie  said  to  me,  at 
six  o'clock  in  sa  morning — 'Neil,'  said  he,  'sare  will  be  no 
iTpart  at  the  end  o1  this  day,  if  I  can  get  at  him  wis  my 
musket.1  Now  Corporal  Mackenzie  was  a  strong,  big 
man " 

u  Neil,  you  have  told  me  all  that  before,"  said  the  Whaup. 
"  I  know  that  you  and  Corporal  Mackenzie  took  a  whole  bat- 
tery captive — men,  horses,  and  guns.     You  told  me  before," 

x  2 


180  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  And  if  a  young  man  hass  no  pride  in  what  his  country 
hass  done  ;  if  he  will  not  hear  it  again  and  again,"  said 
Neil,  with  indignation,  "  it  is  not  my  fault." 

"  Another  time,  Neil,  we  will  go  over  the  story  from  end 
to  end.  There,  the  bells  have  just  stopped.  I  must  get  on 
now  to  the  Manse.  Kemember,  if  you  let  a  human  being 
know  you  saw  me  in  Airlie  this  day,  it  will  be  Ayr  jail 
for  ye." 

The  Pensioner  laughed,  and  said  : 

"You  wass  always  a  goot  hand  at  a  joke,  Maister 
Tammas." 

"Faith,  you  won't  find  it  any  joke,  Neil,"  said  the 
Whaup,  as  he  bade  good-bye  to  the  old  man,  and  went  off. 

As  he  crossed  the  moor — the  white  snow  concealing  deep 
ruts  filled  with  crackling  ice,  into  which  he  frequently 
stumbled — he  saw  the  beadle  come  out  and  shut  the  outer 
door  of  the  church.  Not  a  sign  of  life  was  now  visible  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see — only  the  white  heights  and  hollows, 
with  dark  lines  of  hedges,  and  the  grey  twilight  of  the 
woods.  The  sun  still  shone  on  the  Manse  windows,  and  as 
he  drew  near  a  thrush  flew  out  of  one  of  the  short  firs  in 
front  of  the  house,  bringing  down  a  lot  of  snow  with  the 
flutter  of  its  wings. 

He  lifted  the  latch  gently,  and  walked  into  the  front 
garden.  A  perfect  stillness  reigned  around.  Every- 
body was  evidently  at  church — unless,  indeed,  Leezibeth 
might  have  been  left  with  Coquette.  The  Whaup  looked 
over  the  well-known  scene  of  many  an  exploit.  He  slipped 
round  the  house,  too,  to  have  a  glimpse  at  the  rest  of  the 
premises.  A  blackbird  flew  out  of  one  of  the  bushes  with 
a  cry  of  alarm.  A  robin  came  hopping  forward  on  the 
snow  and  cocked  up  its  black  and  sparkling  eye  at  the 
intruder.  There  were  two  or  three  round  patches  of  snow 
on  the  walls  of  the  stable ;  and  the  Whaup,  recognising 
these  traces,  knew  that  his  brothers  must  have  been  having 
high  jinks  there  this  morning  before  the  Manse  had  awoke. 

Then  he  went  back  and  cautiously  entered  the  hall. 
What  was  this  low  and  monotonous  sound  he  heard  issuing 
from  the  parlour  ?  He  applied  his  ear  to  the  door,  and 
heard  Leezibeth  reading  out,  in  a  measured  and  melancholy 
way,  a  chapter  of  Isaiah. 


A FTER  MANY  DAYS.  1 8 1 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  thought  the  Whaup.  "  She 
never  used  to  read  to  herself.  Can  she  be  reading  to 
Coquette  ;  and  is  that  the  enlivening  drone  with  which  she 
seeks  to  interest  an  invalid  ?  " 

It  seemed  to  him,  also,  that  if  Leezibeth  were  reading  to 
Coquette,  she  was  choosing  passages  with  a  sinister  applica- 
tion. He  heard  the  monotonous  voice  go  on  : — "  Come 
down,  and  sit  in  the  dust,  0  virgin  daughter  of  Babylon  ;  sit 
on  the  ground;  there  is  no  throne,  0  daughter  of  the 
Chaldeans ;  for  thou  shalt  no  more  be  called  tender  and 
delicate"  The  cheeks  of  the  Whaup  began  to  burn  red 
with  something  else  than  the  cold.  He  knew  not  that 
Leezibeth  had  altogether  overcome  her  old  dislike  for  the 
girl,  and  waited  on  her  with  an  animal-like  fondness  and 
submissiveness.  The  Whaup  took  it  for  granted  that  these 
texts  were  chosen  as  a  reproof  and  admonition — part  of  the 
old  persecution  ;  and  so,  without  more  ado,  he  opened  the 
door  brusquely,  and  walked  in. 

A  strange  scene  met  his  eyes.  Coquette,  pale  and  death- 
like, lay  on  a  sofa,  with  her  large,  dark  eyes  fixed  wistfully 
on  the  lire.  She  evidently  heard  nothing.  Leezibeth  sat 
on  a  chair  at  the  table,  with  a  large  Family  Bible  before 
her.  There  was  no  trace  of  a  sick  room  in  this  hushed  and 
warm  apartment,  in  which  the  chief  light  was  the  red  glow 
of  the  fire  ;  and  yet  it  was  so  silent,  save  for  the  low 
murmuring  of  these  texts,  and  the  girl  looked  so  sad  and  so 
phantom-like,  that  a  great  chill  laid  hold  of  his  heart. 
Had  they  been  deceiving  him  in  their  letters  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

coquette's  dreams. 

The  Whaup  went  over  to  the  sofa,  and  knelt  down  on 
one  knee,  and  took  Coquette's  hand. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  forgetting  to  call  her  by  any  other 
name,  "  are  you  ill  yet  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale  ?  Why  did 
they  tell  me  you  were  almost  better  ?  " 

She  was  pale  no  longer.  A  quick  flush  of  surprise  and 
delight  sprang  to  her  face  when  she  saw  him  enter ;  and 


182  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

there  was  a  new  life  and  pleasure  in  her  eyes  as  she  said 
rapidly  : 

"  You  are  come  all  the  way  from  Glasgow  to  see  me  ?  I 
was  thinking  of  you,  and  trying  to  make  a  picture  of  Glas- 
gow in  the  coal  and  flames  of  the  fire  ;  and  I  had  begun  to 
wonder  when  you  would  come  back  ;  and  whether  it  would  be 
a  surprise — and — and — I  did  think  I  did  hear  something  in 
the  snow  outside,  and  it  was  really  you  ?  And  how  well  you 
look,  Tom,"  she  added,  with  her  dark  eyes  full  of  a  subtle 
tenderness  and  joy  regarding  the  young  man's  handsome  and 
glowing  face  ;  "  and  how  big  and  strong  you  are  ;  but,  do 
you  know,  you  seem  to  be  a  great  deal  older  ?  You  have 
been  working  very  hard,  Tom  ?  Ah,  I  do  know  !  And  you 
have  come  to  stay  for  a  while  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  house 
have  you  been  living  in  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  place  is 
Glasgow  ?  Sit  down  on  the  hearthrug  and  tell  me  all 
about  it !  " 

She  spoke  quite  rapidly,  and,  in  her  gladness  and  excite- 
ment, she  tried  to  raise  herself  up  a  bit.  The  Whaup 
instantly  offered  her  his  assistance,  and  propped  up  the 
cushions  on  which  her  head  rested.  But  why  did  he  not 
speak  ?  He  did  not  answer  one  of  her  questions.  He 
looked  at  her  in  a  vague  and  sad  way,  as  if  she  were 
somehow  remote,  and  she  fancied  she  saw  a  tremor  about 
his  lips.  Then  he  said  suddenly,  with  a  sharpness  which 
startled  her  : 

"  Why  was  I  not  told  ?  Why  did  they  make  light 
of  it  ?  What  have  they  been  doing  to  let  you  get  as  ill  as 
this  ?  " 

He  rose  and  turned  with  a  frown  on  his  face,  as  if  to 
accuse  Leezibeth  of  being  the  cause  of  the  girl's  illness. 
Leezibeth  had  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

u  What  does  that  woman  mean  by  persecuting  you  with 
her  texts  ?  "  he  asked. 

Coquette  reached  out  her  hand,  and  brought  him  down  to 
his  old  position  beside  her. 

"  You  must  not  say  anything  against  Leesibess ;  she  is 
my  very  good  friend,  and  so  kind  that  she  does  not  know 
how  to  serve  me.  And  you  must  not  look  angry  like  that, 
or  I  shall  be  afraid  of  you ;  you  seem  so  much  greater 
and  older  than  you  were,  and  I  have  no  longer  any  control 


COQUETTE'S  DREAMS.  183 

over  you,  as  I  did  use  to  have  when  you  were  a  boy,  you 
know." 

The  Whaup  laughed,  and  sat  down  on  the  hearthrug 
beside  her.  The  fire  heightened  the  warm  glow  of  his  face, 
and  touched  here  and  there  the  brown  masses  of  curling 
hair  ;  but  it  was  clear  that  some  firmness,  and  perhaps  a 
touch  of  sadness  had  been  added  to  the  lad's  expression 
during  those  few  months  he  had  been  away  from  home. 
There  was  a  gravity  in  his  voice,  too,  which  had  replaced  the 
buoyant  carelessness  of  old. 

"  It  is  comfortable  to  be  near  one's  own  fire,  and  to  see 
you  again,  Coquette,"  said  he; 

"  It  is  miserable  away  in  Glasgow  ?  "  she  said.  "  This 
morning,  when  I  saw  the  snow,  I  thought  of  *you  in  the 
drear  town,  and  did  wonder  what  you  were  doing.  It  is 
Sunday,  I  said,  he  will  go  to  church  in  the  morning,  and 
then  he  will  go  outside  the  town  for  a  walk  all  by  himself. 
He  will  go  through  the  great  gate,  and  under  the  big  walls. 
All  the  trees  on  the  side  of  the  fortifications  will  be  bare  and 
heavy  with  snow  ;  and  the  people  that  pass  along  the  boule- 
vards outside  the  walls  will  be  muffled  up  and  cold.  In  the 
gardens  of  the  cafes  the  wooden  benches  will  be  wet  and 
deserted.  Then  I  see  you  walk  twice  round  the  town,  and 
go  in  again  by  the  gate.  You  go  home,  you  have  dinner,  you 
take  a  book — perhaps  it  is  the  French  Testament  I  gave  you — 
and  you  think  of  us  here  at  Airlie.  And  when  you  sit  like 
that  do  you  think  of  the  sea,  and  the  old  church  up  here,  and 
the  moor ;  and  do  you  see  us  as  clearly  as  I  can  see  you, 
ami  could  you  speak  to  me  if  only  the  words  would  carry  ?  " 

He  listened  as  if  he  were  listening  to  the  record  of  a 
dream  ;  and,  strangely  enough,  it  coincided  with  many  a 
dream  that  he  had  dreamt  by  himself  in  the  solitude  of  his 
Glasgow  lodgings. 

"  What  a  curious  notion  of  Glasgow  you  have,"  he  said. 
"  You  seem  to  think  it  is  like  a  French  town.  There  are  no 
fortifications.  There  are  no  walls,  no  boulevards  round  the 
place*  nor  public  gardens  with  benches.  There  is  a  close 
network  of  streets  in  the  middle,  and  these  lose  themselves, 
on  the  one  side,  in  great  masses  of  public  works  and 
chimneys  that  stretch  out  into  dirty  fields  that  are 
sodden  with  smoke,  and,  on  the  other  side,  into  suburbs 


1 84  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

where  the  rich  people  have  big  houses.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  way  of  ramparts,  or  moats,  or  fortifications  ;  but  there  is 
a  cannon  in  the  "West-End  Park." 

"  There  is  a  park,  then  ?  It  is  not  all  houses  and 
chimneys  ?  " 

"  There  are  two  parks  that  let  you  see  nearly  down  to 
Airlie.  On  the  clear  days  I  go  up  to  the  highest  point  and 
look  away  down  here,  and  wonder  if  I  could  call  to  Coquette, 
and  if  she  would  hear." 

"  You  do  think  of  me  sometimes,  then  ?  "  said  she,  with 
the  dark  eyes  grown  wistful  and  a  trifle  sad. 

Had  he  not  thought  of  her  !  What  was  it  that  seemed  to 
sweeten  his  life  in  the  great  and  weary  city  but  tender 
memories  of  the  girl  away  down  in  that  moorland  nook  ? 
In  the  time  of  constant  rain,  when  the  skies  were  dark, 
and  the  roaring  traffic  of  the  streets  ploughed  its  way 
through  sludge  and  mud,  he  thought  of  one  spot  over  which, 
in  his  imagination,  there  dwelt  perpetual  sunshine  and  a  blue 
sky.  When  he  was  sick  of  the  noise  and  the  smoke — sick, 
too,  of  the  loneliness  of  the  great  city — he  could  think  of 
the  girl  far  away,  whose  face  was  as  pure  and  sweet  as  a  lily 
in  springtime  ;  and  the  very  memory  of  her  seemed  to 
lighten  his  dull  little  room,  and  bring  a  fragrance  to  it. 
Did  not  Airlie  lie  in  the  direction  of  the  sunset  ?  Many  a 
time,  when  he  had  gone  out  from  the  town  to  the  heights  of 
Maryhill  or  Hillhead,  the  cloudy  and  wintry  afternoon  broke 
into  a  fierce  mass  of  fire  away  along  the  western  horizon ; 
and  he  loved  to  think  that  Goquette  was  catching  that  glare 
of  yellow  light,  and  that  she  was  looking  over  the  moor 
towards  Arran  and  the  sea.  All  the  sweet  influences  of  life 
hovered  around  Airlie  ;  there  seemed  to  be  always  sunshine 
there.  And  when  he  went  back  into  the  gloom  of  the  city 
it  was  with  a  glad  heart ;  for  he  had  got  a  glimpse  of  the 
favoured  land  down  in  the  west ;  and  if  you  had  been 
walking  behind  a  tall  and  stalwart  lad,  whose  shoulders  were 
as  flat  as  a  board,  and  whose  brown  hair  was  in  considerable 
profusion  round  a  face  that  was  full  of  courage,  and  hope, 
and  health,  you  would  have  heard  him  sing,  high  over  the 
roar  of  the  carts  and  the  carriages,  the  tune  of  "  Drumclog  " 
— heeding  little  whether  any  one  was  listening  to  his  not 
very  melodious  voice. 


COQUETTE'S  DREAMS.  185 

"  You  must  have  been  much  worse  than  they  told  me,"  he 
said  gravely. 

"  But  I  am  getting  very  well  now,"  said  Coquette,  with  a 
smile,  "  and  I  am  anxious  to  be  quite  better,  for  they  did 
spoil  me  here.     I  do  not  like  to  be  an  invalid." 

"  No,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  I  suppose  you'd  rather  be 
scampering  about  like  a  wild  pony  over  the  moor,  flinging 
snowballs,  and  shouting  with  laughter." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  the  wild  pony  was  good  at  snow- 
balls or  at  laughing,"  said  Coquette.  "  But  you  have  not 
told  me  anything  about  Glasgow.  "What  you  do  there  ? 
Have  you  seen  Lady  Drum  since  she  went  away  from 
here,  after  being  very  kind  to  me  ?  How  do  you  like  the 
college  ?  " 

"All  that  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  Whaup.  "I 
did  not  come  here  to  talk  about  myself.  I  came  to  see  you, 
and  find  out  for  myself  why  you  were  remaining  so  long 
indoors." 

"But  I  do  desire  you  to  talk  about  yourself,"  said 
Coquette,  with  something  of  her  old  imperiousness  of 
manner. 

"  I  shan't,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  I  have  grown  older  than 
you  since  I  went  to  Glasgow,  and  I  am  not  to  be  ordered 
about.  Besides,  Coquette,  I  haven't  above  half  an  hour 
more  to  stay." 

"  You  do  not  go  away  to-day  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with  alarm 
in  her  face. 

"  I  go  away  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  or  my  father  will 
be  home.  Not  a  human  being  must  know  that  I  have  come 
to  Airlie  to-day.  I  mean  to  exact  a  solemn  vow  from 
Leezibetm" 

"  It  is  wicked — it  is  wrong,91  said  Coquette. 

"  Why  not  say  it  is  a  beastly  shame,  as  you  used  to  do  ?  " 
asked  the  Whaup. 

"  Because  I  have  been  reading  much  since  I  am  ill,  and 
have  learned  much  English,"  said  Coquette  ;  and  then  she 
proceeded  with  her  prayers  and  entreaties  that  he  should 
remain  at  least  over  the  day. 

But  the  Whaup  was  inexorable.  He  had  fulfilled  the 
object  of  his  mission  ;  and  would  depart  without  anybody 
being  a  bit  the  wiser.     He  had  seen  Coquette  again ;  had 


1 86  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

listened  to  her  tender  voice ;  and  assured  himself  that  she 
was  really  convalescent  and  in  good  spirits.  So  they  chatted 
in  the  old  familiar  fashion — as  if  they  were  boy  and  girl 
together.  But  all  the  time  Coquette  was  regarding  him, 
and  trying  to  say  to  herself  what  the  inexpressible  something 
was  which  had  made  a  difference  in  the  Whaup's  manner. 
He  was  not  downcast — on  the  contrary,  he  talked  to  her  in 
the  frank,  cheerful,  abrupt  way  which  she  knew  of  old  ;  and 
yet  there  was  a  touch  of  determination,  of  seriousness,  and 
decision  which  had  been  quite  recently  acquired.  In  the 
mere  outward  appearance  of  his  face,  too,  was  there  not  some 
alteration  ? 

"  Oh,  Tom  !  "  she  cried,  suddenly,  "  you  have  got 
whiskers." 

"  What  if  I  have  ?  "  he  said  coolly.  "  Are  you  sorry, 
Miss  Coquette,  that  nature  has  denied  to  woman  that  manly 
ornament  ?  " — and  he  stroked  with  satisfaction  the  dusky 
golden  down  which  was  on  his  cheeks. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Coquette,  "  you  did  come  from 
Glasgow  to  show  me  your  whiskers." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  admire  them  as  much  as  you  ought 
to,"  he  remarked.  "Yet  there  are  many  men  would  give 
something  for  these,  though  they  are  young  as  yet." 

"  Oh,  you  vain  boy !  "  said  Coquette.  "  I  am  ashamed 
of  you.  And  your  fashionable  cuffs,  too — you  are  not  a 
proper  student.  You  ought  to  be  pale,  and  gloomy,  with 
shabby  clothes,  and  a  hungry  face.  But  you  have  no  links  in 
your  cuffs,  Tom,"  she  added,  rather  shyly.  "  Would  you  let  me 
— would  you  accept  from  me  as  a  present  a  pair  I  have  got  ?  " 

"  And  go  back  to  college  with  a  pair  of  girl's  links  in  my 
sleeves  !  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  But  they  are  quite  the  same,"  said  Coquette.  "  It  will 
give  me  great  pleasure  if  you  will  take  them." 

She  rang  for  Leezibeth,  and  bade  her  go  up  to  her  room 
and  fetch  those  bits  of  jewellery  ;  and  when  Leezibeth  came 
back  with  them  Coquette  would  herself  put  them  in  her 
cousin's  sleeves — an  operation  which,  from  her  recumbent 
position,  she  effected  with  a  little  difficulty.  As  the  Whaup 
looked  at  these  pretty  ornaments — four  small  and  dark-green 
cameos  set  in  an  old-fashioned  circle  of  delicately  twisted 
gold  wire — he  said — 


COQUETTE'S  DREAMS.  187 

"  I  wonder  you  have  left  yourself  anything,  Coquette.  You 
aiv  always  giving  away  something  or  other.  I  think  it  is 
use  you  are  so  perfect  and  happy  in  yourself,  that  you 
don't  need  to  care  for  anything  else." 

The  girl's  face  flushed  slightly  with  evident  pleasure  ;  but 
she  said — 

"If  you  do  call  me  'Coquette,'  I  will  call  you  'The 
Whaup.'  " 

M  Who  told  you  to  call  me  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  it  often.  Yet  it  is  not  fair.  You  are  not 
anv  more  a  wild  boy,  but  a  student  and  a  man.  Neither  am 
I  «  Coquette."' 

Yet  at  this  very  moment  the  deceitful  young  creature  was 
trying  her  best  to  make  him  forget  the  peril  he  was  in.  She 
knew  that  if  the  people  returning  from  church  were  to  find 
him  in  the  house,  his  secret  would  be  lost,  and  he  would  be 
forced  to  remain.  So  she  talked  and  questioned  him  without 
ceasing,  and  had  made  him  altogether  forget  that  time 
was  passing  rapidly,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  noise 
somewhere 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  "  they  have  come  back.  I 
must  bolt  out  by  the  garden  and  get  over  the  wall.  Good- 
bye, Coquette — get  well  soon,  and  come  up  to  see  me  in 
Glasgow  !  " 

He  darted  out,  and  met  Leezibeth  in  the  passage.  He  had 
only  time  to  adjure  her  not  to  say  he  had  been  there,  and 
then  he  got  quickly  through  to  the  back-door.  In  rushing 
forth  he  fairly  ran  against  his  brother  Wattie,  and  uninten- 
tionally sent  him  flying  into  an  immense  heap  of  soft  snow 
which  Andrew  had  swept  along  the  path  ;  but  the  Whaup  did 
not  pause  to  look  at  his  brother  wriggling  out,  blinded  and 
bewildered,  from  the  snowdrift.  He  dashed  through  the 
garden,  took  hold  of  a  pear-tree,  clambered  on  to  the  wall, 
and  dropped  into  the  snow-covered  meadow  outside.  He 
had  escaped. 

But  Wattie,  when  he  came  to  himself,  was  struck  with  a 
great  fear.  He  ran  into  the  house,  and  into  the  parlour, 
almost  speechless  between  sobbing  and  terror,  as  he  blurted 
out — 

"  Oh,  Leezibeth  !  oh,  Leezibeth  !  the  deil  has  been  in  the 
house.     It  was  the  deil  himsel' — and  he  was  fleeing  out  at 


1 88  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  back-door — and  he  flung  me  into  the  snaw — and 
then  gaed  up  into  the  air,  wi'  a  crack  like  thunder.  It 
was  the  deil  himser,  Leezibeth — what'll  I  dae  ?  what'll  I 
dae  ?  " 

"  Havers,  havers,  havers,"  cried  Leezibeth,  taking  him  by 
the  shoulders,  and  bundling  him  out  of  the  room,  "  do  ye 
think  the  deil  would  meddle  wi'  you  ?  Gang  butt  the  house, 
and  take  the  snaw  off  your  claithes,  and  let  the  deil  alane  ! 
Ma  certes — a  pretty  pass  if  we  are  to  be  frightened  out  o'  our 
senses  because  a  laddie  tumbles  in  the  snaw  I  " 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ON  THE   WAY. 

The  Whaup  got  clear  away  from  the  people  coming  out  of 
church  by  striking  boldly  across  the  moor.  His  back  was 
turned  to  the  sea  ;  his  face  to  the  east ;  he  was  on  his  way 
to  Glasgow.  Briskly  and  lightly  he  strode  over  the  crisp, 
dry  snow,  feeling  but  little  discomfort,  except  from,  some  pre- 
monitory qualms  of  hunger  ;  and  at  length  he  got  into  the 
broad  highway  which  follows  the  channel  of  the  Ayrshire 
lochs  from  Dairy  on  by  the  valley  of  the  Black  Cart  towards 
Paisley. 

It  was  a  bright,  clear  day,  and  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
Had  he  not  talked  for  a  brief  while  with  Coquette,  and  seen 
for  himself  that  there  was  a  glimpse  of  the  old  tenderness, 
and  sauciness,  and  liveliness  in  her  soft  black  eye  ?  He  had 
satisfied  himself  that  she  was  really  getting  better  ;  and  that, 
on  some  distant  day  of  the  springtime,  when  a  breath  of  the 
new  sweet  air  would  come  in  to  stir  the  branches  of  the  trees 
in  the  West-End  Park,  he  would  have  the  honour  and  delight 
of  escorting  his  foreign  cousin  towards  that  not  very 
romantic  neighbourhood,  and  pointing  out  to  her  the  spot 
on  the  horizon  under  which  Airlie  was  supposed  to  lie. 

When  would  the  springtime  come  ? — he  thought,  as  he 
began  to  munch  a  biscuit.  Was  it  possible  that  his  imagina- 
tive picture  would  come  true  ?  Would  Coquette  actually  be 
seen  in  Glasgow  streets — crossing  over  in  front  of  the 
Exchange — walking  down  Buchanan  Street — and  perhaps  up 
on  the  little  circle  around  the  flag  in  the  South-Side  Park  ? 


ON  THE  WAY,  189 

Would  Coquette  really  and  truly  walk  into  that  gloomy 
Square  inside  the  old  College,  and  look  at  the  griffins,  and 
perhaps  shyly  steal  a  glance  at  the  red-coated  young  students 
lounging  round  ?  Glasgow  began  to  appear  less  dull  to  him. 
A  glamour  fell  over  the  grey  thoroughfares  ;  and  even  the 
dinginess  of  the  High  Street  became  picturesque. 

"Why,  all  the  sparrows  in  the  street  will  know  that 
Coquette  has  come  ;  and  the  young  men  in  the  shops  will 
brighten  themselves  up  ;  and  Lady  Drum  will  take  her  to 
the  theatre,  in  spite  of  my  father  ;  and  all  the  bailies  will  be 
asking  Sir  Peter  for  an  introduction.  And  Coquette  will  go 
about  like  a  young  princess,  having  nothing  in  the  world  to 
do  but  to  look  pleased  !  " 

So  he  struck  again  with  his  stick  at  the  snow  on  the 
hedge,  and  quickened  his  pace,  as  though  Glasgow  were  now 
a  happy  end  to  his  journey.  And  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  and 
gang  aloud,  in  his  joy,  the  somewhat  desolating  tune  of 
"  Coleshill " — even  as  the  Germans,  when  at  their  gayest, 
invariably  begin  to  sing — 

"Ieh  weiss  nicht  was  soil  es  bedeuten 
Dass  ich  so  traurig  bin." 

The  Whaup  had  not  the  most  delicately  modulated  voice, 
but,  such  as  it  was,  he  had  plenty  of  it. 

Presently,  however,  he  stopped,  for  right  in  front  of  him 
there  appeared  a  solitary  horseman.  There  was  something 
in  the  rider's  figure  familiar  to  him.  Who  was  this  that 
dared  to  invade  the  quiet  of  these  peaceful  districts  by 
appearing  on  horseback  on  a  Sunday  morning  ?  As  he 
drew  near,  the  Whaup  suddenly  remembered  that  not  a  word 
had  been  said  by  Coquette  of  Lord  Earlshope. 

The  sunlight  faded  utterly  out  of  the  landscape.  All  the 
joyous  dreams  he  had  been  dreaming  of  Coquette  coming 
to  Glasgow  grew  faint,  and  vanished.  He  had  quite  for- 
gotten Lord  Earlshope  ;  and  now,  it  became  evident,  here 
be  was,  riding  along  the  main  road  in  the  direction  of 
Airlie. 

As  Earlshope  came  near,  he  drew  up  his  horse.  He 
was  clad,  the  Whaup  observed,  in  a  large  Russian-looking 
overcoat,  which  had  plenty  of  warm  fur  round  the  neck  of  it. 


190  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

He  looked,  indeed,  more  like  a  foreigner  than  a  country 
gentleman  riding  along  an  Ayrshire  road  towards  his  own 
estates. 

No  less  surprised  was  Lord  Earlshope  to  meet  his  boon 
companion  of  old. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  had  left  Airlie." 

"  I  thought  the  same  of  you,"  said  Mr.  Tom. 

Earlshope  laughed. 

"  I  am  obeying  a  mere  whim,"  he  said,  "  in  riding  down 
to  Earlshope.  I  shall  probably  not  stay  an  hour.  How  are 
all  the  people  in  Airlie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  Whaup,  "  I  have  myself 
been  there  for  about  an  hour,  and  no  more." 

"  At  least  you  know  how  your  cousin,  Miss  Cassilis,  is  ?  " 
said  he,  in  a  grave  tone  of  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  "she  is  still  an  invalid,  you 
know,  but  she  is  on  the  fair  way  to  a  complete  recovery." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Earlshope,  hastily.  "I  am 
glad  of  that,  for  I  may  not  be  able  to  call  to  see  how  she 
is.  In  fact,  I  am  rather  pressed  for  time  this  morning. 
You  are  sure  she  is  getting  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  And  will  soon  be  about  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  repeated  the  Whaup,  regarding  with 
some  curiosity  the  engrossed  and  absent  way  in  which  the 
other  put  his  rapid  questions. 

Earlshope  turned  round  his  horse. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  wish  to  be  seen  about  this 
place,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  on  to  Airlie.  I  only 
wanted  to  make  some  inquiries  about  your  cousin.  What 
you  tell  me  has  satisfied  me  that  she  is  not  so  ill  as  I  had 
feared.     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  walking  to  Glasgow,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  To  Glasgow  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  You  won't  be  there 
before  night ! " 

"  That  is  not  of  much  consequence." 

"I  will  go  to  Glasgow  with  you,  if  you  like.  We  can 
take  the  horse  alternately." 

"The  horse  would  think  you  were  mad  if  you  were  to 
walk  him  all  the  way  up  to  Glasgow  in  this  snow,"  said  the 
Whaup. 


ON  THE  WAY.  191 

"True,  true,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  absently.  "I  shall 
strike  across  country  for  Largs,  and  put  up  there.  You  saw 
your  cousin  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  she  is  not  very  much  of  an  invalid  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  is  getting  better,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  You 
need  not  say  you  have  seen  me.     Good  day  to  you  !  " 

So  he  turned  his  horse  once  more,  and  rode  on,  with  an 
obviously  preoccupied  air. 

"  There  goes  a  man,"  said  the  Whaup,  watching  him  dis- 
appear, "  as  mad  as  a  March  hare,  and  madder." 

Yet,  as  he  walked  on,  he  found  that  this  brief  interview 
had  strangely  disquieted  him.  What  business  had  Earls- 
hope to  be  asking  so  particularly  about  Coquette  ?  Why 
was  he  riding  down  on  this  Sunday  morning  for  the 
professed  purpose  of  making  inquiries  about  her  ?  Nay, 
why  should  he  wish  not  to  be  seen  ?  It  was  evident  that  in 
Airlie,  where  no  one  had  seen  his  lordship  for  many  a  day, 
there  was  no  expectation  of  him.  The  more  Tom  Cassilis 
considered  the  matter,  the  more  profound  became  his 
annoyance  over  the  whole  affair. 

It  now  seemed  to  him — looking  back  over  the  brief  time 
that  he  had  spent  with  Coquette — that  the  most  grateful 
feature  of  the  interview  was  the  fact  that  Lord  Earlshope 
had  not  been  mentioned.  He  had  been  quite  forgotten, 
indeed.  There  might  have  been  no  Lord  Earlshope  in  the 
world,  so  thoroughly  had  he  been  ignored  in  that  quiet  and 
confidential  chat  which  took  place  in  the  Minister's  parlour. 
Yet  here  he  was,  riding  down  by  himself  within  a  few  miles 
of  Airlie,  and  with  his  professed  object  the  wish  to  see  or 
hear  something  of  Coquette. 

The  rest  of  that  long  walk  was  not  pleasant  to  the  young 
man.  The  whole  day  seemed  to  have  become  sombre  and 
gloomy.  Why  was  he  compelled  to  return  like  a  slave  to 
the  labour  and  the  loneliness  of  a  strange  town,  when  others 
had  the  free  country  before  them,  to  choose  their  place  of 
rest  as  they  liked  ?  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  turning 
his  back  now  on  all  that  was  beautiful  and  pleasant  in  the 
world,  and  that  Lord  Earlshope  had  been  left  there  with 
such  intentions  in  his  heart  as  were  still  a  mystery.     The 


192  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Whaup  began  to  forget  that  he  had  fraternised  with  Lord 
Earlshope  on  board  the  Caroline.  He  remembered  no  longer 
that  he  had  satisfied  himself  of  that  gentleman's  being  a 
far  more  agreeable  and  honest  person  than  the  popular 
voice  of  the  district  would  admit.  Earlshope's  kindness  to 
them  all,  and  his  excessive  and  almost  distant  courtesy  to 
Coquette  and  her  uncle,  were  effaced  from  his  recollection  ; 
and  he  knew  only  that  before  him  lay  the  long  and  winding 
and  dreary  road  to  Glasgow,  while  behind  him  were  the 
pleasant  places  about  Airlie,  and  Coquette,  and  the  comfort 
of  the  Manse,  towards  which  Lord  Earlshope  was  perhaps 
now  riding. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  the  Whaup,  footsore  and  tired, 
reached  his  lodgings  in  George  Street,  Glasgow.  His  land- 
lady had  not  returned  from  evening  service ;  the  solitary 
domestic  of  the  house  was  also  absent ;  there  was  no  one  in 
the  gaunt  and  dismal  house,  which  he  entered  by  means  of 
a  latch-key.  He  set  to  work  to  kindle  a  fire  ;  but  the  fire 
went  out ;  and  in  the  middle  of  his  labours  he  dropped  into 
a  chair  and  fell  fast  asleep.  The  fatigues  of  the  day  caused 
him  to  sleep  on  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold  ;  and  the  other 
people  of  the  house,  coming  in  later  on,  knew  nothing  of  his 
being  in  his  room. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  awoke.  He  was  stiff  with 
cold.  He  sought  for  matches,  and  could  not  find  them  ;  so 
he  tumbled  into  bed  in  the  dark,  with  his  whole  frame 
numbed  and  his  heart  wretched.  Nor  did  he  forget  his 
miseries  in  sleep ;  there  was  no  sleep  for  him.  He  lay 
through  the  night  and  tossed  about ;  and  if  for  a  moment 
he  fell  into  a  sort  of  doze,  it  was  to  start  up  again  with  a 
great  fear  that  something  had  happened  at  Airlie.  In  these 
periods  of  half-forgetfulness,  and  during  the  interval  when 
he  lay  broadly  awake,  the  nightmare  that  haunted  him  was 
the  figure  of  the  solitary  rider  he  had  met  on  the  Dairy  Eoad. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  those  anxious  inquiries  that 
Earlshope  had  then  made  ?  Why  was  he  disinclined  to 
go  on  to  his  own  place,  and  be  seen  of  the  people  of 
Airlie  ?  Why  go  to  Largs  ?  Largs — as  the  Whaup  lay 
and  remembered — was  not  more  than  fifteen  miles  from 
Airlie.  Would  Earlshope  loiter  about  there  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  Coquette  by  stealth  ?     And  why  should  he  wish  to 


ON  THE  WA  V.  I93 

see  her  ?  So  the  weary  hours  of  the  night  passed,  and  the 
grey  and  wintry  dawn  began  to  tell  upon  the  window  of  his 
room.  The  questions,  with  all  their  anxieties  and  doubts, 
remained  unanswered  ;  and  there  had  come  another  gloomy 
day,  demanding  its  quota  of  work. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

AN  AWFUL  VISITOR. 

It  became  noised  abroad  that  the  devil  had  been  seen  in 
Airlie.  The  Minister's  sons  not  only  took  up  the  story 
which  had  been  told  them  by  their  brother  "Wattie,  but  added 
to  it  and  embellished  it  until  it  assumed  quite  dramatic 
proportions,  and  was  picturesquely  minute  in  detail.  The 
rumour  that  grew  and  widened  in  the  village  was  that,  on 
the  Sabbath  forenoon,  a  black  Something  had  been  seen 
wandering  about  in  the  snow  round  the  Manse.  The  boys, 
on  return ingfrom  church,  had  heard  mysterious  voices  in 
the  deep  silence  of  the  small  garden.  Then  Wattie,  drawing 
near  to  the  back-door,  had  suddenly  been  blinded  by  a  rush 
of  wind  ;  flames  darted  out  from  the  house  and  surrounded 
him ;  the  current  of  air  drove  him  into  a  snowdrift  ;  and 
the  awful  Something,  with  a  shriek  of  fiendish  laughter, 
had  fled  past  him  and  disappeared,  and  there  was  a  low 
rumble,  as  of  distant  thunder  echoing  along  the  hollow  still- 
ness of  the  sky. 

That  was  the  rumour  of  Sunday  night  and  the  following 
morning  ;  but  during  the  day  of  Monday  there  were  bruited 
round  some  strange  stories  of  mysterious  footprints  which 
had  been  perceived  in  the  snow.  A  track  had  been  observed 
leading  over  the  moor  towards  the  garden-wall,  and  suddenly 
stopping  there.  Now,  not  only  was  it  impossible  for  any 
being  of  mortal  shape  and  limbs  to  leap  that  high  wall,  but 
there  was  this  further  peculiarity  remarked,  that  the  foot- 
prints formed  but  one  line.  A  slight  fall  of  snow,  it  is  true, 
during  the  morning  had  somewhat  blurred  the  outline  of 
these  marks  ;  but  it  was  confidently  asserted  that  they  were 
not  such  as  had  ever  been  made  by  the  impress  of  a  human 
foot. 

Towards  nightfall  Mr.  Gillespie,  having  finished  off  some 

0 


194  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

parochial  business,  deemed  it  his  duty  to  go  up  to  the  Manse 
to  communicate  these  disturbing  stories  to  the  Minister. 
The  Schoolmaster  had  a  visitor  that  evening — Mr.  Cruik- 
shanks,  the  Tailor — who  sometimes  dropped  in  to  have  a 
glass  of  toddy  and  a  chat  over  public  affairs.  The  Tailor 
was  a  small,  thin,  black-a-vised  man,  of  highly  nervous  tem- 
perament, who  was  suspected  of  having  been  a  Chartist,  and 
who  had  been  known  at  a  public  meeting  in  Saltcoats — for 
he  was  a  great  orator — to  express  views  Avhich  were  of  a  wild 
and  revolutionary  nature.  Nevertheless,  up  here  in  Airlie 
he  conducted  himself  in  a  fitting  manner  ;  went  regularly  to 
church  ;  observed  the  Communion  ;  never  failed  to  have  the 
mended  pair  of  breeks  or  the  new  coat  home  in  good  time  ; 
and,  if  he  did  sympathise  with  the  French  republicans,  said 
little  about  it.  Indeed,  it  was  not  to  be  controverted  that 
the  Pensioner  knew  far  more  about  France  and  the  French 
than  the  excitable  little  Tailor  ;  for  the  former  had  driven 
whole  regiments  of  prisoners  bef  ore  him  like  sheep,  and  could 
tell  you  how  the  contemptible  and  weakly  things  asked  for 
water  and  bread,  using  language  of  their  own  for  want  of  a 
better  education. 

Mr.  Cruikshanks  had  also  heard  the  ugly  rumours  current 
in  the  village,  and  quite  agreed  that  the  Schoolmaster  should 
go  up  to  the  Manse. 

"Not,"  said  he,  with  an  oratorical  gesture,  "because  ye 
believe  in  them,  sir ;  but  because  the  Minister  maun  be 
warned  to  set  his  face  against  the  superstitions  o'  the 
vulgar.  ^  The  dawn  o'  leeberty,  Mr.  Gillespie,  though  oft 
delayed,  is  never  won  ;  and  the  triumph  o'  the  great  princi- 
ples o'  rationalism  that  is  progressin'  faur  and  wide " 

# "  Rationalism  !   rationalism  !  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in 
dismay.     "  Do  ye  ken  what  ye're  sayin',  man  ?  " 

"  Which  is  not  the  rationalism  o'  the  vulgar,  sir," 
observed  the  Tailor,  calmly.  "  'Tis  of  another  complexion 
and  pale  cast  of  thought.  It  has  naething  to  do  wir 
releegion.  It  is  the  new  spirit — the  blawin'  up  o'  the  auld 
fossils  and  formations — the  light  that  never  was  in  poet's 
dream.  But  I  will  gang  wi'  ye,  sir,  to  the  Minister's,  if  ye 
are  so  minded." 

4  The  two  went  out  together.    By  the  help  of  the  yellow 
light  from  the  small  windows,  they  picked  their  way  through 


AN  AWFUL  VISITOR.  195 

the  muddy  and  half  molted  snow  of  the  village  street.  When 
they  had  got  clear  of  the  small  houses,  they  found  the  snow 
lying  thick  and  crisp  and  dry  on  the  highway  ;  and  it  needed 
all  their  watchfulness  to  decipher,  by  the  aid  of  the  starlight, 
the  line  of  the  moorland  road.  There  was  no  one  abroad  at 
that  hour.  The  villagers  had  been  glad  to  get  into  their 
warm  homes  out  of  the  cold  and  bitter  wind  that  blew 
along  the  white  uplands.  From  over  the  broad  moor 
there  came  not  the  least  sound;  and  the  only  living  thing 
visible  seemed  the  countless  myriads  of  stars,  which  shone 
coldly  and  clearly  through  the  frosty  atmosphere.  The 
Schoolmaster  and  his  companion  spoke  but  little  as  they 
went ;  they  were  too  much  engaged  in  finding  the  path 
through  the  snow.  6 

Suddenly  the  Tailor  stopped  and  involuntarily  laid  his 
hand  on  his  neighbour's  arm. 

••  What  is  it  P  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  a  start. 

Bnt  he  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  he  saw  what 
laid  caused  his  companion  to  stand  still,  with  his  face  looking 
over  the  moor.  Before  them — a  dark  mass  in  the  starlight 
— stood  Airlie  Church  ;  and  at  one  end  of  it — that  farthest 
from  the  door — the  windows  seemed  to  be  lighted  up  with  a 
dull  red  glow. 

"  Wha  can  be  in  the  kirk  at  this  time  o'  nicht  ?  "  said 
the  Schoolmaster,  quite  forgetting  to  choose  proper  English 
]  >h  rases. 

The  Tailor  said  nothing.  He  was  thinking  of  AlToway 
Kirk  and  the  wild  revels  that  had  been  celebrated  there. 
His  talk  about  the  superstitions  of  the  vulgar  had  gone  from 
his  memory  ;  he  only  saw  before  him,  over  a  waste  of  snow 
and  under  a  starlit  sky,  a  ehureh  which  could,  for  no 
possible  reason,  be  occupied,  but  which  had  its  windows 
touched  from  the  inside  with  a  glow  of  light. 

"  Man  and  boy,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  I  have  lived  in 
Airlie  these  twenty  years,  and  never  saw  such  a  thing.  It 
is  a  fearsome  licht  that.  It  would  be  our  duty  to  go  and  see 
what  it  means " 

"  There  I  dinna  agree  wi'  ye ! "  said  the  Tailor, 
angrily.  "  What  business  is  it  o'  ours  ?  Folks  dinna 
sweeten  their  ain  yill  by  meddlin'  wi'  other  folk's  barrels. 
I  am  for  lettin'  the  kirk  alane.    Doubtless  it  is  lichted  up 

0  2 


196  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

for  some  purpose.  Why,  dinna  ye  ken  that  the  Minister's 
niece  was  brought  up  as  a  Roman  ;  and  that  the  Catholics 
like  to  hae  a'  mainner  o'  mysterious  services  in  the  dead  0' 
nicht  ?  " 

This  explanation  seemed  to  afford  the  Tailor  very  great 
relief.  He  insisted  upon  it  even  to  the  point  of  losing  his 
temper.  What  right  had  the  Schoolmaster  to  interfere  with 
other  people's  religion  ?  Why  didn't  he  do  as  he  would  be 
done  by  ? 

"  But  we  ought  to  see  what  it  is,"  said  the  School- 
master. 

"  Ye  may  gang  if  ye  like,"  said  the  Tailor,  firmly. 
"  Deil  the  bit  0'  me  '11  steer  !  " 

The  Schoolmaster  drew  back.  He  was  not  going  to  cross 
the  moor  alone — especially  with  those  rumours  of  mysterious 
footprints  about. 

"  Perhaps  ye  are  right,  Mr.  Cruikshanks,"  he  said.  "  But 
we  maun  gang  on  and  tell  the  Minister." 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  the  Tailor,  with  eagerness.  "  We 
hae  a  sacred  duty  to  perform.  We  maun  get  a  lamp  to  see 
our  way,  and  the  keys  0'  the  kirk,  and  the  Minister  and 
Andrew  Bogue  will  come  wi'  us.  The  notion  0'  its  being 
witches — ha  !  ha  ! — it  is  quite  rideeklous.  Such  supersti- 
tions, sir,  have  power  wi'  the  vulgar,  but  wi'  men  like  you 
and  me,  Mr.  Gillespie,  wha  have  studied  such  things,  and 
appeal  to  the  licht  o'  reason,  it  is  not  for  us  to  give  way 
to  idle  fears.  No  ;  we  will  go  up  to  the  door  0'  the  kirk, 
and  we  will  have  the  maitter  explained  on  rationalistic  prin- 
ciples  " 

"  I  wish,  Mr.  Cruikshanks,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with 
a  sort  of  nervous  anxiety  and  anger,  "  ye  wouldna  talk  and 
talk  about  your  rationalism  and  your  rationalistic  principles. 
I  declare,  to  hear  ye,  ane  would  think  there  wasna  a  heeven 
above  us." 

But  the  Tailor  continued  his  discourse  on  the  sublime 
powers  of  reason,  and  waxed  more  and  more  buoyant  and 
eloquent,  until,  the  two  having  reached  the  gate  of  the 
Manse,  the  Tailor  turned  upon  his  companion,  and  with 
scorn  hinted  that  he,  the  Schoolmaster,  had  succumbed  to 
childish  fears  on  seeing  the  kirk  windows  lit  up. 

"  What  more  simple,"  said  the  Tailor,  in  his  grandest 


AN  AWFUL  VISITOR.  197 

maimer,  "  than  to  have  walked  up  to  the  door,  gone  in,  and 
demanded  to  know  what  was  the  reason  o'  the  licht  ?  That 
is  what  common  sense  and  reason  would  dictate  ;  but  when 
fears  and  superstitions  rise  and  dethrone  the  monarch  from 
his  state,  the  lord  of  all  is  but  a  trumpery  vassal — a  trumpery 
vassal,  Mr.  Gillespie  !  " 

The  Schoolmaster  was  too  indignant — and  perhaps  too 
pinch  relieved  on  finding  himself  within  the  shelter  of  the 
Manse  wall — to  reply.  The  two  neighbours  walked  up  to  the 
door  of  the  Manse — looking  rather  suspiciously  at  the  gloomy 
corners  around  them,  and  the  black  shadows  of  the  trees— and 
knocked.    The  door  was  opened  half  an  inch. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  said  Leezibeth. 

"  Me,"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Who's  me  ?  "  said  the  voice  from  within — the  door  being 
still  kept  on  the  point  of  shutting. 

"  Bless  my  life  and  body  ! "  cried  the  Schoolmaster, 
provoked  out  of  all  patience.  "Is  this  a  night  to  keep  a 
human  being  starving  in  the  maw  ?     Let  us  in,  woman  !  " 

With  which  he  drove  the  door  before  him  and  entered  the 
passage,  confronting  the  terrified  Leezibeth,  who  dropped 
her  candle  there  and  then,  and  left  the  place  in  darkness. 

The  Minister  opened  the  parlour  door,  and  the  light 
streamed  out  on  the  strangers.  Without  being  asked,  the 
Schoolmaster  and  the  Tailor  stumbled  into  the  room,  and 
stood,  with  dazed  eyes,  looking  alternately  at  the  Minister 
and  at  Coquette,  who  lay  on  the  sofa  with  an  open  book 
beside  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  the 
Minister  ;  for  both  the  men  seemed  speechless  with  fear. 

"  Has  she  no  been  at  the  kirk  the  nicht  ?  "  said  the 
Tailor. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  Minister,  beginning  to  think  that  both 
of  his  visitors  must  be  drunk. 

"  Her,"  said  the  Tailor — "  your  niece,  sir — Miss  Cassilis." 

"  At  the  kirk  ?  She  has  not  been  out  of  the  house  for 
months." 

"  But — but — but  there  is  somebody  in  the  kirk  at  this 
present  meenute,"  said  the  Tailor,  breathlessly. 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  the  Minister,  with  some  impatience. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


198  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  As  sure  as  daith,  sir,  the  kirk's  in  a  lowe  !  "  blurted  out 
the  Tailor  again,  though  he  still  kept  his  eyes  glaring  in  a 
fascinated  way  on  Coquette. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Coquette  began  to  laugh.  The  appear- 
ance and  talk  of  the  two  strangers — whether  the  result  of 
drink  or  of  fright — were  altogether  so  abnormal  and  ludi- 
crous that,  for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  keep  from 
smiling.  Unfortunately,  this  conduct  on  her  part,  occurring 
at  such  a  moment,  seemed  to  confirm  the  suspicions  of  the 
two  men.  They  regarded  her  as  if  she  were  a  witch  who 
had  been  playing  pranks  with  them  on  the  moor,  had 
whipped  herself  home,  and  was  now  mocking  them.  Yague 
recollections  of  "  Tarn  o'  Shanter  "  filled  their  minds  with 
forebodings.  Who  knew  but  that  she  was  connected  with 
these  mysterious  things  of  which  the  village  had  been  talk- 
ing ?  Why  should  the  stories  have  centred  upon  the  Manse  ? 
Was  she  not  a  Roman,  and  a  foreigner — a  creature  whose 
dark  eyes  were  full  of  concealed  meaning — of  malicious 
mischief  —  of  unholy  laughter  ?  -  No  wonder  there  were 
strange  footprints  about,  or  that  the  kirk  was  "  in  a  lowe  " 
at  midnight. 

The  Minister  abruptly  recalled  them  from  their  dazed  and 
nervous  speculations  by  demanding  to  know  what  they  had 
seen.  Together  they  managed  to  produce  the  story  in  full ; 
and  the  Minister  said  he  would  himself  at  once  go  over  the 
moor  to  the  kirk. 

"  Micht  not  Andrew  Bogue  come  wi'  a  lantern  ?  "  said  the 
Tailor  ;  and  the  Minister  at  once  assented. 

With  that,  the  spirits  of  the  two  heroes  rose.  They  would 
inquire  into  this  matter.  They  would  have  no  devilish  can- 
trips going  on  in  the  parish,  if  they  could  help  it.  And  so 
they  once  more  sallied  out  into  the  cold  night  air  ;  and,  with 
much  loud  talking  and  confident  suggestion,  struck  across 
the  snow  of  the  moor. 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  small  church  the  talking  died 
down.  The  red  light  was  clearly  seen  in  the  windows. 
Andrew  Bogue,  who  had  been  a  few  steps  ahead  of  the 
party,  in  order  to  show  them  the  way,  suggested  that  he 
should  fall  behind,  so  that  the  light  would  shine  more 
clearly  around  their  feet.  Against  this  both  the  Schoolmaster 
and  the  Tailor  strongly  protested  ;  and  the  discussion  ended 


AN  AWFUL  VISITOR.  199 

by  the  Minister  impatiently  taking  the  lamp  into  his  own 
hand  and  going  forward.  Thcposse  comitatm  followed  close, 
and  in  deep  silence.  Indeed,  there  was  not  a  sound  heard, 
save  the  soft  yielding  of  the  crisp  snow  ;  and  in  the  awful 
stillness — under  the  great  canopy  of  sparkling  stars — the  red 
windows  of  the  small  and  dark  building  glimmered  in  front 
of  them. 

The  Minister  walked  up  to  the  door,  the  others  keeping 
close  behind  him.     He  endeavoured  to  open  it ;  it  was  locked. 

"  The  keys,  Andrew,"  he  said. 

"  I — I — I  didna  bring  any  keys,"  said  Andrew,  testily. 
He  was  angry  with  his  tongue  for  stammering,  and  with  his 
throat  for  choking. 

"  And  how  did  ye  expect  us  to  get  in  ?  "  asked  the  Minister. 

"  Why,  I  thocht — I  thocht  that  if  there  was  anybody  in 
the  kirk,  the  door  would  be  open,"  answered  Andrew, 
<|iierulously. 

"Go  back  to  the  Manse  and  get  them,"  said  the  Minister 
perhaps  with  concealed  irony. 

"  By  mysel1  ?  "  quoth  Andrew.  "  Across  the  moor  by 
mysel'  ?  What  for  does  any  human  being  want  to  get  into 
the  kirk  ?  Doubtless  there  are  some  bits  o'  wanderin'  bodies 
inside ;  would  ye  turn  them  out  in  the  cauld  ?  If  ye  do 
want  to  look  into  the  kirk,  there  is  a  ladder  'at  ye  can  pit 
against  the  wa\" 

Andrew  was  ordered  to  bring  the  ladder  ;  but  he  professed 
his  inability  to  carry  it.  The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Tailor 
went  with  him  to  a  nook  behind  some  back-door  ;  and 
presently  reappeared — walking  stealthily  and  conversing  in 
whispers — with  the  ladder,  which  they  placed  against  the 
wall.  The  Schoolmaster,  with  a  splendid  assumption  of 
bravery,  clambered  up  the  steps,  and  paused  when  the  tip  of 
his  nose  received  the  light  from  the  panes.  The  others 
breathlessly  awaited  his  report. 

"  I  canna  see  anything,"  he  whispered,  coming  down 
rather  rapidly. 

But  where  the  Schoolmaster  had  gone,  the  Tailor  would 
go.  Mr.  Cruikshanks  went  bravely  up  the  ladder,  and 
peered  in  at  the  window.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of 
this  ghastly  stillness,  and  the  yellow  light  burning  somewhere 
in  the  church  ?     He  had  heard  of  awful  scenes,  in  which 


200  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

corpse-lights  had  come  forth  all  over  a  churchyard,  with 
vague  forms  flitting  about,  in  the  midst  of  peals  of  demoniac 
laughter.  But  here  was  no  sound — no  movement — only  the 
still  glare  of  a  ruddy  light,  coming  from  whence  he  knew 
not. 

But  what  was  this  that  suddenly  echoed  along  the  empty 
church  ?  The  Tailor  grasped  the  top  rung  of  the  ladder.  He 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  got  down ;  but  if  he  had 
let  go,  his  trembling  legs  would  have  thrown  him  backward. 
Something  was  moving  in  the  dim  and  solitary  building — his 
breath  came  and  went — his  head  swam  round — the  ladder 
trembled  within  his  grip.  And  at  the  same  moment  there 
was  a  startling  cry,  a  smothered  shriek  from  the  School- 
master, as  he  turned  to  find  in  the  darkness  a  figure 
approaching  him.  Andrew  fell  back  from  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  ;  and  therewithal  down  came  the  ladder  and  the  Tailor 
together  with  a  crash  upon  Andrew  and  his  lamp,  burying 
the  one  in  the  snow,  and  smashing  the  other  to  pieces. 
A  succession  of  piteous  cries  from  the  Tailor  broke  the 
silence  of  the  moor  ;  until  the  Minister,  dragging  him  out  of 
the  snow,  bade  him  cease  his  howling.  The  Schoolmaster 
had  abruptly  retreated  ;  and  now  the  group  of  explorers, 
partly  on  the  ground  and  partly  upright,  was  approached  by 
this  dusky  figure. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  an  agonised 
whisper.  "  Oh,  what  is't  ? — what  is't  ?  What  can  it  be, 
sir  ?     Speak  till't !  " 

The  Minister  having  put  the  Tailor  on  his  legs — though 
they  were  scarcely  able  to  support  him — turned  to  the  new- 
comer, and  said — 

"  Well,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Me,  sir  ?  Me  ?  "  said  a  deep  bass  voice,  in  rather  an 
injured  tone,  "  I'm  Tammas  Kilpaitrick." 

"  What !    Kilpaitrick  the  joiner  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Well,  I  hope  sae,"  said  the  man  ;  "  and  I  dinna  ken 
what  for  ye  should  run  away  frae  a  body  as  though  he  was  a 
warlock." 

"  But  how  came  ye  in  the  kirk  at  this  time  o'  night  ?  " 
said  the  Minister. 

"  Deed,  ye  may  well  ask,"  said  the  worthy  joiner  ;  "  for  it's 
little  my  maister  allows  me  for  overtime  ;  and  if  he  will  put 


AN  AWFUL  VISITOR.  201 

me  to  jobs  like  this  after  my  day's  work  is  done,  I  hope  he'll 
gie  me  some  fire  and  better  company  than  a  wheen  rats  and 
mice.  Will  Mr.  Bogue  take  hame  the  keys  that  my  maister 
got  frae  his  wife  this  afternoon  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Bogue  was  still  in  the  snow,  groaning.  When 
they  picked  him  up  they  found  that  the  lantern  had  severely 
cut  his  nose,  which  was  bleeding  freely.  Whereupon  the 
Schoolmaster  waxed  valiant,  and  vouchsafed  to  the  joiner  an 
explanation  of  the  panic,  which,  he  said,  was  the  work  "  o' 
that  poor  body,  the  Tailor.  And,  mark  me,  Mr.  Kilpaitrick," 
he  added,  "  it  is  not  every  man  that  would  have  insisted  on 
seeing  to  the  bottom  0'  this  maitter,  as  I  did  this  night.  It 
was  our  duty  to  investigate — or,  as  I  might  say,  to  examine — 
into  what  might  have  raised  superstitious  fears  in  Airlie, 
especially  as  regards  the  stories  that  have  been  about.  It 
shames  me  that,  as  we  were  proceeding  in  a  lawful — or,  I 
might  say,  legitimate — manner,  to  inquire,  that  poor  body, 
the  Tailor,  should  have  set  up  an  eldritch  screech,  as  if  he 
was  possessed.  He  is  a  poor  body,  that  Tailor,  and  subject 
to  the  fears  of  the  vulgar.  If  ye  hear  the  neighbours  talk  o' 
this  night's  doings,  ye  will  be  able,  Mr.  Kilpaitrick,  to  say 
who  behaved  themselves  like  men ;  and  I'm  thinking  that 
we  will  be  glad  0'  your  company  across  the  moor,  and 
ye  will  then  come  in  and  hae  a  glass  0'  toddy  wi'  us,  Mr. 
Kilpaitrick.  As  for  the  Tailor  there,  the  poor  craytur  has 
scarcely  come  to  his  senses  yet ;  but  we  maun  take  him 
safe  hame." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

IN  THE  SPRINGTIME. 

Why  was  there  no  mention  of  Lord  Earlshope  in  the 
letters  from  Airlie  which  reached  the  Whaup  in  his  Glasgow 
lodgings  ?  The  Whanp  was  too  proud  to  ask  ;  but  he  many 
a  time  wondered  whether  Earlshope  was  now  paying  visits 
to  the  Manse,  as  in  the  bygone  time,  and  watching  the 
progress  of  Coquette's  restoration  to  health.  Indeed,  the 
letters  that  came  up  from  the  moorland  village  were  filled 
with  nothing  but  Coquette,  and  Coquette,  and  Coquette. 
The  boys  now  openly  called  her  by  this  familiar  name  ;  and 


202  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

her  sayings  and  doings,  the  presents  she  made  them,  and 
the  presents  she  promised  to  give  them  when  she  should  go 
to  Glasgow,  occupied  their  correspondence  almost  to  the 
exclusion  of  stories  of  snow-battles  with  the  lads  of  the 
neighbourhood. 

At  last  the  Whaup  wrote  and  asked  what  Lord  Earlshope 
was  doing. 

The  reply  came  that  he  had  not  been  in  Airlie  since  the 
previous  autumn. 

"  Why,  he  must  be  mad  ! "  said  the  Whaup  to  himself. 
"  Not  go  on  to  his  own  house,  when  he  was  'within  two  or 
three  miles  of  it !  These  French  novels  have  turned  his 
head  ;  we  shall  have  him  presently  figuring  as  the  hero  of  a 
fine  bigamy  case,  or  poisoning  himself  with  charcoal  fumes, 
or  doing  something  equally  French.  Perhaps  he  has  done 
something  desperate  in  his  youth,  and  now  reads  French 
novels  to  see  what  they  have  to  say  on  the  subject." 

Among  other  intelligence  sent  him  by  his  correspondents 
during  the  winter  was  that  on  the  morning  of  New  Year's 
Day  (Coquette  had  been  astonished  to  find  that  Christmas  was 
held  of  no  account  in  Airlie)  there  had  arrived  at  the  Manse, 
directed  to  that  young  lady,  a  large  and  magnificent  volume 
of  water-colour  sketches  of  the  Loire.  The  grandeur  of  this 
book — its  binding  and  its  contents — was  all  a  marvel  at  the 
Manse  ;  and  the  youngest  of  the  Whaup's  brothers  expressed 
his  admiration  in  these  terms  : 

"  It  is  most  wonderful.  The  boards  is  made  of  tortis- 
shell,  with  white  say  tin  and  wreaths  of  silk  roses  and  flowers 
in  different  colours  all  round  it.  There  is  a  back  of  scaurlet 
marrocca  leather,  with  gilt.  And  she  put  it  on  the  table, 
and  when  she  began  to  turn  it  over  she  laughed,  and  clapped 
her  hands  thegither,  and  was  fair  daft  with  looking  at  it ;  but, 
as  she  went  on,  she  stopped,  and  we  all  saw  that  she  was 
greetin\    I  suppose  it  was  some  place  she  kenned." 

No  one  knew  definitely  who  had  sent  this  gorgeous  book 
— not  even  Coquette  herself  ;  but  the  popular  opinion  of  the 
Manse  determined  that  it  must  have  been  Lady  Drum. 
There  were  only  two  people,  widely  apart,  who  had  another 
suspicion  in  the  matter  ;  and  these  two  were  Coquette  and 
the  Whaup.  Meanwhile,  if  the  book  had  come  from  Lord 
Earlshope,  it  was  accompanied  by  no  sign  or  token  from 


IN  THE  SPRINGTIME.  203 

him  ;  and,  indeed, his  name  was  now  scarcely  ever  mentioned 
in  the  Manse. 

And  so  the  long  and  hard  winter  passed  away  :  and  there 
cune  at  last  a  new  light  into  the  air,  and  soft  and  thawing 
winds  from  over  the  sea.  The  spring  had  arrived,  with  its 
warm  and  sweet  breezes  ;  and  all  over  the  countryside  there 
began  to  peep  out  tiny  buds  of  brown  and  green,  with  here 
ami  there,  in  many  a  secret  nook  and  corner,  the  wonder  of 
a  flower.  And  at  last,  too,  Coquette  got  out  of  the  house,  and 
began  to  drink  in  new  life  from  the  mild  odours  and  the  clear 
blue-white  air.  Her  eyes  were  perhaps  a  trifle  wistful  or  even 
sad  when  she  first  got  abroad  again  ;  for  the  springtime  revives 
many  memories,  and  is  not  always  a  glad  season  ;  but  in  a 
little  while  the  stirring  of  new  health  and  blood  in  Coquette's 
pale  cheeks  began  to  recall  her  to  her  usual  spirits.  The 
morning  was  her  principal  time  for  going  out  ;  and,  as  the 
boys  were  then  at  Mr.  Gillespie's  school,  she  learned  to  wander 
about  alone,  discovering  all  manner  of  secret  dells  about  the 
woods  where  the  wild  flowers  were  sure  to  be  found.  Many 
and  many  a  day  she  came  home  laden  with  hyacinths,  and 
violets,  and  anemones,  and  the  white  stars  of  the  stitchwort ; 
and  she  brought  home,  too,  a  far  more  valuable  and  beautiful 
llower  in  the  bloom  which  everyone  saw  gathering  on  her 
cheek.  Sometimes  she  prevailed  on  her  uncle  to  accompany 
her  ;  and  she  would  take  the  old  man's  arm  and  lead  him 
into  strange  woodland  places  of  which  he  had  but  little 
knowledge.  Leezibeth  was  so  delighted  to  see  the  girl 
become  her  former  self,  that  she  was  more  than  ordinarily 
pugnacious  towards  Andrew,  as  if  that  worthy  but  sour- 
tempered  person  had  1  Hit  1  harbouring  dark  projects  against 
the  girl's  health.  Leezibeth,  indeed,  had  wholly  gone 
over  to  the  enemy;  and  Andrew  Badly  shook  his  head  and 
comforted  himself  with  prophecies  of  evil  and  lamen- 
tation. 

One  day  Coquette  had  wandered  down  to  the  very  wood  in 
which  the  "VYIianp  had  caught  Neil  Lament  poaching.  She 
had  been  exceptionally  lucky  in  her  quest  for  new  flowers  ; 
ami  had  got  up  a  quite  respectable  bouquet  for  the 
study  mantel-piece.  Then  she  had  that  morning  received 
from  France  a  little  song  of  Gounod's,  which  was  abundantly 
popular  thereat  the  time.     So,  out  of  mere  lightness  of 


204  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

heart,  she  came  walking  through  the  wood,  and  sang  to  her- 
self carelessly  as  she  went — 

La  voile  ouvre  son  aile 

La  brise  va  souffler — er — cr — cr — 

when  suddenly  her  voice  died  down.  Who  was  that  going 
along  the  road  in  the  direction  of  Airlie  ?  A  faintness 
came  over  her — she  caught  hold  of  a  branch  of  a  fir — and 
then  with  a  half  instinctive  fear  she  drew  back  within  the 
shelter  of  a  few  tall  stems.  It  was  Lord  Earlshope  who  was 
passing  along  the  road — walking  slowly  and  idly — and 
apparently  taking  no  notice  of  the  objects  around  him. 

Her  heart  beat  quickly,  and  her  whole  frame  trembled,  as 
she  remained  cowering  until  even  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 
had  died  away.  Then  she  stole  out  of  the  wood,  and 
hurriedly  followed  a  circuitous  route  which  landed  her 
breathless,  and  yet  thankful,  within  the  safety  of  the  Manse. 
He  had  not  observed  her. 

But  he  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  He  had  returned 
from  abroad.  Perhaps  he  would  go  away  again  without 
even  seeing  her  and  speaking  to  her  for  a  moment — unless, 
indeed,  she  happened  to  be  out  the  next  morning  and  so 
might  chance  to  meet  him  ! 

"  You  must  not  fall  back  into  any  of  your  dull  moods, 
Catherine,"  said  the  Minister,  in  a  cheerful  way,  to  her  that 
evening,  as  he  happened  to  perceive  her  unwonted  silence, 
and  the  pensive  look  of  her  eyes. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

OVER  THE  MOOR. 

Coquette's  sleep  that  night  was  full  of  dreams  of  a 
meeting  with  Lord  Earlshope ;  and  in  the  morning  she 
awoke  with  a  confused  sense  of  having  been  wandering  with 
him  in  a  strange  land,  which  had  a  threatening  sky  over  it, 
and  all  around  it  the  moaning  of  the  sea.  She  seemed  to 
have  a  notion  that  the  place  was  familiar  to  her  ;  and 
gradually  out  of  her  memory  she  was  able  to  recall  the 
features  of  a  certain  gloomy  loch,  overshadowed  by  sombre 
mountains. 


OVER  THE  MOOR.  205 

"  I  will  remember  no  more  of  it,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  That  island — is  it  always  coming  back  ?  " 

Yet  those  dreams  left  a  troubled  impression  behind  them  ; 
and  she  began  to  think  with  some  foreboding  of  a  possible 
encounter  with  Lord  Earlshope  if  she  went  out  for  her 
accustomed  walk.  Dared  she  meet  him  ?  Or  what  if  he 
were  here  only  for  a  brief  time,  and  went  away  without  a 
word  ?  As  she  lay  calculating  anxiously  these  probabilities, 
and  trying  to  decide  whether  she  should  go  or  not,  a  great 
dash  of  rain  smote  on  the  windows  of  the  Manse,  a  glimmer 
of  morning  sunlight  also  struck  the  panes,  and  a  blustering 
April  wind  blew  about  the  chimneys. 

"  Rain  !  "  she  cried,  as  though  she  was  glad  of  anything 
to  resolve  her  anxious  doubts.     "  Then  I  do  not  go  ! " 

Nevertheless  she  rose  and  dressed  quickly.  There  were 
no  blinds  needed  for  the  small  windows  that  looked  across 
the  moor.  During  the  progress  of  her  toilette  she  could  see 
the  wild  glare  of  the  spring  sunshine  that  chased  the  rapid 
and  riven  clouds  which  the  wind  was  blowing  over  the  sea. 
On  they  came  in  thunderous  masses  and  filmy  streaks — here 
dark  and  rainy,  there  struck  into  silver  ;  while  from  time  to 
time  there  was  a  period  of  menacing  gloom,  followed  by  the 
heavy  rattle  of  a  shower  on  roof  and  windows  ;  then 
the  sudden  yellow  light  again  shining  out  on  the  dripping 
trees,  on  the  wet  moor,  and  on  the  far  blue  sea-plain  that 
lay  around  Arran. 

"  You  are  in  much  better  spirits  this  morning,"  said  the 
Minister  at  breakfast,  after  Coquette  had  been  lecturing  the 
boys  in  a  very  grand  and  mock-heroic  fashion. 

"  Yes,  in  spite  of  your  abominating  weather,"  she  replied. 
"  Last  night,  still  and  clear — this  morning  a  hurricane ! 
AVhy  is  your  weather  so  wild,  and  your  Scotch  people  so 
quiet  ?  They  are  not  stormy — no  bad  temper — no  fits  of 
passion — all  smooth,  and  serious,  and  solemn,  as  if  they  did 
go  to  a  churchyard." 

"And  that  is  where  we  all  of  us  are  going,  whether  in 
Scotland  or  France,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  serious  smile. 

"  Yet  why  always  think  of  it  ?  "  said  Coquette,  lightly. 
"  Why  you  make  the  road  to  the  churchyard  a  churchyard 
also  ?  No — it  is  not  reasonable.  AVe  should  have  a  little 
gaiety,  and  amuse  ourselves  in  the  meantime.     Ah  !  now  do 


2c6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETEt. 

look  at  the  faces  of  all  those  boys  ;  do  they  think  me 
wicked  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  row  of  solemn  and  awe-struck  faces  which 
listened  to  Coquette's  Sadduceeism  provoked  her  into  a  fit 
of  laughter,  which  Leezibeth  checked  by  coming  into  the 
room  and  asking  abruptly  if  more  tea  were  wanted. 

Coquette  had  apparently  forgotten  that  she  had  been 
troubled  that  morning  about  Lord  Earlshope.  The  boisterous 
weather  had  prevented  her  going  out,  so  that  no  choice 
remained  to  her.  But  when  after  the  boys  had  been 
despatched  to  school,  she  was  left  to  herself  and  her  solitary 
employment  at  the  piano,  her  vivacity  died  away.  With- 
out any  intention  she  wandered  into  melancholy  strains, 
and  played  half-forgotten  ballad-airs  which  she  had  heard 
among  the  peasantry  of  Morbihan.  She  began  to  cast 
wistful  glances  towards  the  changeable  landscape  outside. 
At  last  she  gave  up  the  piano,  and  went  to  one  of  the 
windows,  and  took  a  seat  there.  The  intervals  of  sunlight 
were  growing  longer.  The  clouds  seemed  more  light  and 
fleecy.  There  was  a  grey  mist  of  rain  down  in  the  south, 
over  Ayr  ;  but  all  around  her  the  wet  landscape  was  shining 
in  its  young  spring  greens  ;  while  the  gusty  west-wind,  that 
blew  a  warm  and  mo.H  fragrance  about  the  garden,  could 
not  quite  drown  the  music  of  the  thrushes  and  blackbirds. 
The  sky  cleared  more  and  more.  Even  in  the  south,  the 
rain-mist  lifted,  and  the  sunlight  shone  on  the  far  promon- 
tory. Finally,  the  wind  moderated  ;  and  eventually  over 
all  the  land  there  seemed  to  prevail  the  fresh  clear  brightness 
and  sweetness  of  an  April  morning. 

Coquette  put  on  her  small  hat  (with  its  dash  of  sea-bird 
plumage)  and  a  warm  grey  woollen  shawl,  and  went  out. 
Her  light  foot  was  not  heard  leaving  the  house ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  she  was  on  the  moorland  road — all  around  her 
the  shining  beauty  of  the  spring  day,  and  the  glistening  of 
the  recent  rain.  At  another  time  she  would  have  rejoiced 
in  the  clear  light  and  the  genial  warmth  of  the  western 
breezes  :  to-day  she  seemed  thoughtful  and  apprehensive, 
and  dared  scarcely  look  over  the  moor.  She  wandered  on 
— her  head  somewhat  downcast ;  and  when  she  paused,  it 
was  merely  to  pick  up  some  tiny  flower  from  amongst  the 
wet  grass.    It  was  only  by  a  sort  of  instinct  that  she 


OVER  THE  MOOR.  207 

avoided  the  red  pools  which  the  rain  had  left  in  the  road  ; 
she  seemed  to  walk  on — in  the  opposite  direction  from 
Airlie — as  If  she  were  in  a  dream. 

She  became  aware  that  there  was  some  one  crossing  over 
the  moor  on  her  right  ;  still  she  did  not  look  up.  Indeed, 
before  she  could  collect  herself  to  consider  how  she  should 
speak  to  Lord  Earlshope,  supposing  he  were  to  meet  her, 
tne  stranger  had  overtaken  her,  and  pronounced  her  name. 

She  turned — a  trifle  pale,  perhaps,  but  quite  self-possessed 
— and  regarded  him  for  one  brief  second.  Then  she 
stepped  forward  and  offered  him  her  hand.  During  that 
instant,  he,  too,  regarded  her,  in  a  somewhat  strange  way, 
l»ef ore  meeting  her  advances  ;  and  then  he  said —  ' 

"  Have  you  really  forgiven  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  all  over,"  she  said,  in  a  low  but  quite  distinct 
voice — "  all  over  and  forgotten.  It  does  do  no  good  to 
bring  it  back.     You — have  you  been  well  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  again,  with  something  of  wonder  in  the 
admiration  visible  in  his  eyes. 

"  How  very  good  you  are  !  I  have  been  wandering  all 
over  Europe,  feeling  as  though  I  had  the  brand  of  Cain  on 
my  forehead.  I  come  back  to  hear  that  you  have  been 
dangerously  ill,  without  my  having  had  any  knowledge  of  it. 
I  hang  about,  trying  to  get  a  word  of  explanation  said  to 
you  personally  before  calling  at  the  Manse ;  and  now  you 
come  forward,  in  your  old  straightforward  way,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  and  you  offer  me  your  hand  just  as  if  I  wire 
your  friend." 

"  Are  you  not  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  anybody's  friend." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  Coquette.  "  Your  talk  of  Cain — 
your  going  away — your  fears — I  do  not  understand  it  at  all." 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  Nor  would  you  ever  understand  how 
much  I  have  to  claim  forgiveness  for  without  a  series  of 
explanations  which  I  shall  make  to  you  some  day.  I  have 
not  the  courage  to  do  it  now\  I  should  run  the  risk  of 
forfeiting  the  right  ever  to  speak  another  word  to  you." 

Coquette  drew  back,  and  regarded  him  steadfastly. 

M There,"  said  he,  "did  I  not  tell  you  what  would 
happen  ?  You  are  becoming  afraid  of  me.  You  have  no 
reason." 


208  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Yes,  perhaps,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  do  not  understand 
why  all  this  secrecy — all  this  mystery.  It  is  very  strange 
to  me — all  your  actions  ;  and  you  should  be  more  frank,  and 
trust  that  I  will  not  make  bad  interpretation.  You  wish  to 
be  my  friend  ?  I  am  well  pleased  of  that — but  why  you 
make  so  many  secrets  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  I  am  too 
anxious  to  believe  that  you  have  forgiven  me  for  what 
happened  on  that  hideous  night.  I  was  mad — I  was  beside 
myself — I  don't  know  what  possession  I  laboured  under  to 
make  a  proposal " 

"  Ah,  why  bring  it  all  back  ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  Is  it  not 
better  to  forget  it  ?  Let  us  be  as  we  were  before  we  went 
away  in  the  yacht.  You  shall  meet  me.  I  shall  speak  to 
you  as  usual.  "We  shall  forget  these  old  misfortunes.  You 
will  come  to  the  Manse  sometimes — as  you  did  before.  You 
must  believe  me,  it  will  be  very  simple  and  natural  if  you 
do  try  ;  and  you  shall  find  yourself  able  to  be  very  good 
friends  with  all  of  us,  and  no  more  brands  of  Cain  on  your 
forehead." 

He  saw  in  her  soft  eyes  that  she  faithfully  meant  what 
she  said  ;  and  then,  with  a  sort  of  effort,  he  said — - 

"  Come,  let  us  walk  along,  and  I  will  talk  to  you  as  you 
go.  There  is  a  path  along  here  by  which  you  can  cross  the 
moor,  and  get  back  to  the  Manse  by  Hechton  Mains." 

How  glad  she  was  to  walk  by  his  side  in  the  old  fashion  ! 
It  was  so  pleasant  to  hear  his  voice,  and  to  have  the  grave 
kindliness  of  his  eyes  sometimes  meeting  hers,  that  she  did 
not  stop  to  ask  whether  it  was  merely  as  friends  they  were 
walking  together.  Nor  did  she  notice,  so  glad  was  she,  how 
constrained  was  his  talk ;  how  he  was  sometimes,  in 
moments  of  deep  silence,  regarding  her  face  with  a  look 
which  had  the  blackness  of  despair  in  it.  She  chatted  on, 
pleased  and  happy ;  breaking  imperiously  away  from  all 
mention  of  what  had  happened  in  the  north  whenever  that 
became  imminent.  She  did  not  even  perceive  whither  she 
was  going  ;  she  submitted  to  be  led  ;  and  even  lost  sight  of 
the  familiar  features  of  the  landscape  surrounding  her  own 
home. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  was  ever  a  woman  as  unselfish  as  you 
are,"  he  said,  abruptly  and  morosely.     "  I  know  that  you 


OVER  THE  MOOR.  209 

are  pretending  to  be  glad  only  to  make  our  meeting  pleasant 
and  spare  me  the  pain  of  self -accusation." 

"  How  can  you  think  such  morbid  things  on  such  a 
beautiful  morning  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  it  not  a  pleasure  to 
be  in  the  open  air  ?  Is  it  not  a  pleasure  to  meet  an  old 
friend  ?  And  yet  you  stop  to  pull  it  all  to  pieces,  and  ask 
why,  and  what,  and  how.  You — who  have  been  abroad — 
are  not  thankful  for  this  bit  of  sunshine — perhaps  that  is 
the  reason." 

"  There  is  something  almost  angelic — if  we  knew  any- 
thing about  angels — in  the  way  you  have  of  forgetting  your- 
self in  order  to  make  other  people  feel  at  ease." 

"  And  if  you  are  not  cheerful  this  morning,  you  have  not 
forgotten  how  to  pay  compliments,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

Presently  he  said — - 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  consider  me  a  very  discontented 
fellow.  You  see,  I  don't  wish  just  at  present  to  interrupt 
our  new  friendliness  by  explaining  why  I  am  not  cheerful — 
why  I  owe  you  more  contrition  than  you  can  understand — 
why  your  kindness  almost  makes  me  suspicious  of  your  good 
faith.     You  don't  know " 

"I  know  enough,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
impatience.  "  I  wish  not  to  have  any  more  whys,  and  whys, 
and  whys.  Explanations,  they  never  do  good  between 
friends.  I  am  satisfied  of  it  if  you  come  to  the  Manse,  and 
become  as  you  were  once.  That  is  all — that  is  sufficient. 
But  just  now — when  you  have  the  pleasant  morning  before 
you — it  is  not  good  to  torment  yourself  by  doubts,  and 
suspicions,  and  questions." 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  must  suffer  you  to 
consider  me  discontented  without  cause.  It  will  be  of  little 
consequence  a  hundred  years  hence." 

Coquette  laughed. 

"  Even  in  your  resignation  you  are  gloomy.  Why  you 
say  that  about  a  hundred  years  ?  I  do  not  care  what 
happens  in  a  hundred  years  :  but  just  now,  while  we  are 
alive,  we  ought  to  make  life  pleasant  to  each  other,  and  be 
as  cheerful  as  we  can." 

So  they  wandered  on,  Coquette  not  paying  particular  heed 
to  the  direction  of  their  walk.  Her  companion  was  not  very 
talkative  ;  but  she  was  grateful  for  the  new  interest  that  had 


210  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

been  lent  to  her  life  by  his  arrival  at  Airlie,  and  was  in  very 
good  spirits.  All  her  fears  of  the  morning  had  vanished. 
It  seemed  a  comparatively  easy  thing  for  her  to  meet  him  ; 
there  could  apparently  be  no  recurrence  of  the  terrible  scene 
which  was  now  as  a  sort  of  dream  to  her.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, her  companion  paused  ;  and  she,  looking  up,  saw  that 
they  were  now  at  the  corner  of  the  Earlshope  grounds,  where 
these  joined  the  moor.  There  was  a  small  gate  in  the  wall 
fronting  them. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  grounds  ?  "  he  said,  producing  a 
small  key.  "  You  need  not  go  up  to  the  house.  There  is 
a  sort  of  grotto,  or  cavern,  which  I  had  constructed  when 
I  was  a  lad,  at  this  end  of  the  copse.  Will  you  go  in  and 
see  it  ?  " 

Coquette  hesitated  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  said 
— i*  Yes."  He  opened  the  small  gate  ;  they  both  passed 
through  ;  and  Coquette  found  herself  at  the  extremity  of  a 
small  path  leading  through  a  belt  of  larches. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

LORD   EARLSHOPE'S   CAVE. 

She  now  recollected  that  long  ago  the  Whaun  had  told 
her  of  some  mysterious  place  which  Lord  Earlshope  had 
built  within  his  grounds  ;  and  when  her  companion,  begging 
her  to  excuse  him  for  a  few  minutes,  passed  into  what  was 
apparently  a  cleft  in  a  solid  mass  of  earth  or  rock,  and  when 
she  heard  the  striking  of  a  match,  she  concluded  that  he  was 
lighting  up  the  small  theatrical  scene  for  her  benefit.  Nor 
was  she  mistaken  ;  for  presently  he  came  out  and  asked  her 
to  return  with  him  through  this  narrow  aperture.  He  led 
the  way ;  she  followed.  If  the  cavern  into  which  they 
entered  were  of  artificial  construction,  considerable  pains  had 
been  taken  to  make  it  look  natural.  At  first  the  cleft  was 
open  to  the  sky,  and  the  sides  of  the  passage  were  covered 
with  ferns  and  weeds  growing  in  considerable  profusion  ;  but 
by-and-by  she  came  in  front  of  a  large  recess,  apparently 
dug  out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  involuntarily  a  cry  of  wonder 
escaped  her.  The  walls  of  this  tolerably  spacious  cave  were 
studded  here  and  there  by  curiously  shaped  and  pendent 


LORD  EARLSHOPE'S  CA  VE.  211 

lamps  of  various  hues  ;  and  right  at  the  back  was  a 
Chinese  stove,  on  the  polished  surface  of  which  the  coloured 
lights  threw  faint  reflections.  Down  one  side  of  the  cave 
a  stream  trickled  ;  dropping  over  bits  of  rock,  and  wetting 
the  masses  of  fern  which  grew  in  their  clefts.  The  space  in 
front  of  the  stove  was  perfectly  dry  ;  and  there  stood  two 
cane  easy-chairs,  fitted  with  small  reading-desks,  and 
candles.  The  whole  place  looked  like  a  bit  cut  out  of  a 
pantomime  ;  and  Coquette,  suddenly  finding  herself  in  this 
strange  place,  with  its  dusky  corners  and  its  coloured  lamps, 
wholly  forgot  that  outside  there  reigned  the  brightness  of  a 
spring  day. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  boyish  notions  of  the  marvel- 
lous ?  "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  Coquette,  who  fancied  she  had 
been  transferred  to  a  fairy  palace. 

"  There  are  incongruities  in  it,"  said  he  ;  "  for  I  changed 
my  hobbies  then  as  rapidly  as  now.  It  was  begun  in 
imitation  of  a  cavern  I  had  read  of  in  a  novel  ;  it  was  con- 
tinued as  a  mandarin's  palace  ;  and  finally  finished  up  in 
imitation  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  But  you  can  imagine  it 
to  be  what  you  like,  once  you  have  taken  off  your  boots, 
which  must  be  damp,  and  put  on  that  pair  of  Russian 
slippers  which  you  will  find  in  front  of  the  stove.  I  shall 
leave  you  to  complete  your  toilette,  while  I  go  up  to  the 
house  for  some  biscuits  and  wine." 

With  which  he  left,  before  Coquette  could  utter  a  word  of 
protest.  She  now  found  herself  alone  in  this  extraordinary 
place.  Had  he  brought  her  there  intentionally  ?  She  had 
looked  at  the  slippers — they  were  lady's  slippers,  and  new. 
He  had  evidently,  then,  anticipated  that  he  would  meet  her, 
walk  with  Ikt,  and  bring  her  thither  ?  She  knew  not  what 
to  do.  Yet  the  slippers  were  very  pretty — curiously  wrought 
with  coloured  beads,  and  deeply  furred  all  round.  They 
were  seductively  warm,  too,  from  having  been  lying  before 
the  stove.  So,  with  a  certain  defiant  air,  she  sat  down, 
pulled  oil'  her  tiny  boots,  and  placed  them  before  the  stove  ; 
and  presently  her  small  feet  were  encased  in  the  warm  and 
furred  slippers,  which  had  apparently  been  left  for  her  by  the 
genii  of  the  cave. 

Then  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the  easy- chairs  ;  took  ofT 

P  2 


212  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

her  gloves  ;  and  extended  just  so  much  of  the  slippers  that  she 
could  admire  their  rose-coloured  tips.  All  this  conduct  on 
her  part  she  knew  to  be  dreadfully  and  desperately  wrong  ; 
but  she  was  very  comfortable,  and  the  place  was  very  pretty. 
As  for  the  slippers,  they  were  simply  not  to  be  refused. 
Indeed,  the  whole  thing  hovered  in  her  mind  as  half  a 
dream  and  half  a  joke  ;  and  when,  at  length,  Lord  Earlshope 
appeared  with  his  stock  of  provisions,  the  adventure  looked 
remarkably  like  one  of  those  house-keeping  games  familiar 
to  children.  As  for  any  apprehension  of  her  indiscreet 
behaviour  being  a  subject  of  after  annoyance,  she  felt 
none  whatever.  Had  nob  Lord  Earlshope  and  herself  quite 
got  back  to  their  old  friendly  terms ;  and  what  harm 
was  there  in  her  joining  in  this  piece  of  amusement  ?  If 
she  had  any  doubts  or  misgivings,  they  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  sensation  of  warmth  lent  by  the  Russian  slippers. 

Coquette  ate  one  or  two  of  the  small  biscuits,  and  drank 
half  a  glass  of  the  yellow-white  wine,  which  Earlshope 
poured  out  for  her.     Then  she  said — ■ 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  go  away  from  this  place.  I 
should  live  here  always.     Why  did  you  go  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  away  again,"  he  said.  She  looked  up  with 
some  surprise — perhaps  with  a  shadow  of  disappointment, 
too,  on  her  face. 

"  How  can  I  stay  here  ? "  he  said,  suddenly.  "  I  should 
be  meeting  you  constantly.  I  have  no  right  to  meet  you.  I 
am  satisfied,  now  that  I  know  you  are  well,  and  that  you 
have  forgiven  me ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  repeat  a  bygone 
error.  You — who  are  always  so  pleased  with  everything 
around  you — I  see  you  have  forgotten  that  witchery  that 
seemed  to  have  fallen  over  us  both  last  summer.  You  are 
again  yourself — calm,  satisfied  with  yourself — on  excellent 
terms  with  everybody  and  everything.  But  I  have  not  been 
cured  by  my  few  months'  absence.    Now  that   I  see  you 

again Bah  !   what  is  the  use  of   annoying   you  by 

such  talk  ?     Tell  me,  how  is  your  cousin  in  Glasgow  ?  " 

Coquette  remained  quite  silent  and  thoughtful,  however, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  stove  before  her.  After  a  little 
while,  she  said — ■ 

"  I  have  not  forgotten — I  can  never  forget.  I  have  been 
so  pleased  to  see  you  this  morning  that  perhaps  I  have 


LORD  EARLSHOPE)S  CAVE.  213 

appeared  light — fickle — what  you  call  it  ? — in  your  eyes,  and 
not  mindful  of  your  trouble.  It  is  not  so.  I  do  remember 
all  that  happened ;  it  is  only  I  think  it  better  not  to 
bring  it  back.  Why  you  should  go  away  ?  If  you  remain, 
we  shall  learn  to  meet  as  friends,  as  we  are  now,  are  we 
not  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  possible  ?  "  he  asked,  gravely 
looking  at  her. 

Coquette  dropped  her  eyes  ;  and  said,  in  a  low  voice — 

"  It  may  be  difficult  just  a  little  while  ;  yet  it  is  possible. 
And  it  seems  hard  that  if  we  do  enjoy  the  meeting  with  each 
other,  we  must  not  meet — that  I  drive  you  away  from  your 
own  home." 

"  It  is  odd — is  it  not  ?  "  he  said,  in  rather  an  absent  way. 
"  You  have  made  me  an  exile,  or,  rather,  my  own  folly  has 
done  that.  No,  Coquette  ;  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  com- 
promise possible — for  me,  at  least — until  after  a  few  years  ; 
and  then  I  may  come  back  to  talk  to  you  in  quite  an  off-hand 
fashion,  and  treat  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  sister.  For  I 
am  a  good  deal  older  than  you,  you  know " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  outside ; 
and  Coquette  hurriedly  sprang  to  her  feet.  Earlshope 
immediately  went  out  to  the  entrance  of  the  place  ;  and 
Coquette  heard  some  one  approach  from  the  outside.  She 
hastily  abandoned  her  small  furred  slippers,  and  drew  on 
her  damp  boots ;  then  she  stood,  with  a  beating  heart, 
listening. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  alarmed  you,"  said  Earlshope, 
returning.  "  It  was  only  a  servant  with  some  letters  that 
have  arrived." 

But  the  sound  of  those  footsteps  had  suddenly  awakened 
Coquette  to  a  sense  of  the  imprudence,  and  even  danger,  of 
her  present  position,  and  she  declined  to  resume  her  com- 
fortable seat  before  the  fire. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said. 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  way  then,  if  you  must,"  said  he  ; 
and  so  he  led  her  along  the  winding  path,  and  through  the 
si  1  rubbery  to  the  small  gate  that  opened  out  to  the  moor. 
She  had  reached  the  limit  of  Earlshope  ;  in  front  of  her 
stretched  the  undulating  plain  leading  up  to  Airlie  ;  she  was 
free  to  go  when  she  pleased. 


214  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  dare  not  see  you  home, "  he  said,  "  or  the  good  people 
who  may  have  noticed  us  an  hour  ago  would  have  a  story  to 
tell. " 

"  I  shall  find  my  way  without  trouble, "  said  Coquette, 
and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Is  it  to  be  good-bye,  then  ?  "  he  said,  looking  wistfully 
at  her. 

"Not  unless  you  please,"  Coquette  answered,  simply, 
although  she  bent  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  "  I  should  like  you 
to  remain  here,  and  be  friends  with  us  as  in  long  ago  ;  it  is 
not  much  to  ask  ;  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  should 
be  sorry  and  angry  with  myself  if  I  thought  you  had  again 
gone  away  because  of  me.  It  is  surely  no  reason  you  should 
go  ;  for  I  should  think  of  you  far  away,  and  think  that  it  is  I 
who  ought  to  go  away,  not  you  ;  for  I  am  a  stranger  come  to 
Airlie,  and  sometimes  I  think  I  have  come  only  to  do  harm 
to  all  my  friends " 

"  My  darling  !  "  he  said,  with  a  strange  and  inexpressibly 
sad  look  on  his  face,  as  he  caught  her  to  him,  and  gazed  down 
into  the  clear,  frightened  eyes.  "  You  shall  not  accuse  your- 
self like  this  !  If  there  is  blame  in  my  staying  I  will  bear  it ; 
I  will  stay,  whatever  happens  ;  and  we  shall  meet,  Coquette, 
shall  we  not,  even  as  now,  in  this  stillness,  with  no  one  to 
interrupt  our  talk  ?  Why  do  you  look  frightened,  Coquette  ? 
Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?     See,  you  are  free  to  go  !  " 

His  arms  released  their  hold  ;  and  for  an  instant  she 
stood,  with  downcast  eyes,  alone  and  trembling.  But  she 
did  not  move  ;  and  so  once  again  he  drew  her  towards  him  ; 
and  then,  ere  she  knew,  his  arms  were  around  her,  and  she 
was  close  to  his  breast,  and  kisses  were  being  showered  on 
her  forehead  and  on  her  lips.  It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  wild 
and  strange,  that  she  did  not  stir  ;  nor  was  she  but  half- 
conscious  of  the  fetters  of  iron  which  these  few  swift  seconds 
were  fastening  down  on  her  life.  It  was  very  terrible,  this 
crisis  ;  but  she  vaguely  felt  that  there  was  the  sweetness  of 
despair  and  utter  abandonment  possessing  her  ;  that  the  die 
had  been  cast  for  good  or  evil,  and  the  old  days  of  doubt  and 
anxiety  were  over. 

"  Let  me  go — let  me  go  ! "  she  pleaded,  piteously.  "  Oh, 
what  have  we  done  ?  " 

"  We  have  sealed  our  fate,"  said  he,  with  a  haggard  look 


LORD  EARLSHOPE'S  CAVE.  215 

which  she  did  not  sec.  "I  have  fought  against  this  for 
many  a  day — how  bitterly  and  anxiously  no  one  knows, 
Coquette.  But  now,  Coquette,  but  now — won't  you  look 
up  and  let  me  see  that  love  is  written  in  your  eyes  ? 
Won't  you  look  up,  and  give  me  one  kiss  before  we  part  ? — 
only  one,  Coquette  ?  " 

Hut  her  downcast  face  was  pale  and  deathlike  ;  and  for  a 
moment  or  two  she  seemed  to  tremble.     Finally  she  said — 

"  I  cannot  speak  to  you  now.  To-morrow  or  next  day — 
perhaps  we  shall  meet.  Adieu  ! — you  must  leave  me  to  go 
alone." 

And  so  she  went  away  over  the  moor  ;  and  he  stood 
looking  after  her  for  some  time,  with  eyes  that  had  now 
lost  all  their  wild  joy  and  triumph,  and  were  wistful  and 
sad. 

"  She  does  not  know  what  has  happened  to  her  to  day," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  and  I — I  have  foreseen  it,  and  striven 
to  guard  against  it — in  vain." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  NEMESIS  OF  LOVE. 

"  At  last — at  last — at  last !  "  The  words  rang  in  her 
ears  as  she  hurried  across  the  moor — seeing  nothing — heeding 
nothing — her  face  turned  away  from  the  clear  blue-white  of 
the  spring  sky.  She  was  only  anxious  to  get  within  the 
shelter  of  her  own  home,  to  resolve  those  wild  doubts  and 
fears  which  were  pressing  upon  her.  In  many  and  many  a 
story  of  her  youth — in  many  a  ballad  and  song  she  had 
sung  long  ago  in  the  garden  overlooking  the  Loire — she  had 
heard  I  ell  of  happy  lovers  and  their  joy  ;  and,  with  the  care- 
less fancies  of  a  girl,  she  had  looked  forward  to  the  time  when 
she,  too,  might  awake  to  find  her  life  crowmed  by  those  sweet 
experiences  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  young  men  and  maidens. 
And  w.is  this  love  that  had  come  to  her  at  last — not  in  the 
guise  of  an  angel,  with  a  halo  around  his  head  and  mildness 
in  his  face,  but  in  the  guise  of  a  sorcerer,  who  had  the  power 
to  turn  the  very  sunlight  into  blackness  ? 

Yet,  when  she  had  reached  the  solitude  of  her  own 
chamber,  she  asked  herself  the  reason  of  tliis  sudden  dread. 


216  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

What  made  her  heart  beat  and  her  cheek  grow  pale  as  she 
looked  back  to  that  phantasmal  evening  in  Loch  Scavaig  ? 
"Was  not  that  all  over  and  gone — forgotten  and  buried  in  the 
past  ?  Indeed,  she  began  to  reason  with  herself  over  the 
injustice  of  recalling  it.  Had  not  Lord  Earlshope  sufficiently 
endeavoured  to  atone  for — what  ? 

That  was  the  mystery  which  was  confronting  her  with 
a  terrible  pertinacity.  She  had  been  oppressed  with  an 
unnameable  dread  during  that  memorable  evening ;  but 
what  had  Lord  Earlshope  done,  beyond  talk  wildly  and 
almost  fiercely  for  a  few  minutes  ?  She  had  almost  forgotten 
the  substance  of  what  he  had  then  said.  And  now  that  he 
had  expressed  his  penitence  for  that  strange  appeal  to  her — 
since  he  had  even  punished  himself  with  six  months'  exile  on 
account  of  it — why  should  the  memory  of  it  interfere  between 
them  as  a  gloomy  phantom,  voiceless,  but  yet  holding  up  a 
warning  finger  ? 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  murmured  to  herself  in 
French.  "  There  is  something  he  will  not  tell  me  ;  and  yet 
why  should  he  be  afraid  ?  Does  he  fear  that  I  shall  be 
unjust  or  merciless — to  him  who  has  never  a  hard  word  or  a 
suspicion  for  any  one  ?  Why  should  he  not  tell  me  ? — it 
cannot  be  anything  wrong  of  himself — or  I  should  see  it 
in  his  eyes.  And  whatever  it  is,  it  separates  us  ;  and  I  have 
given  my  life  to  a  man  who  seems  to  stand  on  the  other 
side  of  a  river  from  me  ;  and  I  can  only  hold  out  my 
hands  to  him ;  and  wish  that  the  river  were  the  river  of 
death,  so  that  I  could  cross  over,  and  fall  at  bis  feet,  and 
kiss  them." 

She  took  out  a  little  book  of  devotions  which  had  been 
given  her  by  one  of  her  companions  on  leaving  France,  and 
sat  down  at  the  small  window-table,  and  placed  it  before 
her.  A  few  moments  thereafter,  Lady  Drum,  coming  into 
the  room,  found  the  girl's  head  resting  on  the  table  covered 
by  her  hands. 

"  Asleep  in  the  middle  o'  the  day  !  "  said  the  visitor,  who 
had  unceremoniously  come  up-stairs. 

Coquette  hastily  rose,  and  would  have  hidden  her  face  by 
turning  aside  and  going  into  her  bed-room,  but  that  Lady 
Drum  stopped  her,  and  took  hold  of  her. 

"  What !     No  rosier  than  that  ?    And  fast  asleep  in  the 


THE  NEMESIS  OF  LOVE.  ill 

middle  o'  such  a  beautiful  day  !  Dear  me,  lassie  ! "  she  added, 
looking  more  narrowly  at  her,  "  what  are  you  een  so  big, 
and  wild,  and  wet  for  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  walked  to  the  table,  and  took  up  the  small 
book.  She  turned  over  its  pages,  and  the  contempt  visible 
on  her  face  grew  fast  and  fierce. 

"  Saints — crosses — mealy-faced  women  wi'  circles  round 
their  heads — men  in  blue  gowns  wi'  a  lamp  by  their  side — is 
this  the  trash  ye  spend  your  days  over,  when  ye  should  be 
in  the  open  air  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  clasped  the  book  again  ;  put  it  in  the  drawer 
of  the  table  ;  and  shut  the  drawer  with  somewhat  unnecessary 
vehemence. 

"  Phew  !  I  have  no  patience  wi'  the  folk  that  would  make 
every  young  lass  a  nun.  Come  here,  my  young  princess 
wi'  the  pale  face  :  are  you  no  a  staunch,  earnest,  indomitable 
Presbyterian  ?  " 

"  I  am  what  you  please,"  said  Coquette,  timidly. 

"  Are  you,  or  are  you  not,  a  Presbyterian  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  said  Coquette.  "  I  do  not  know  what 
it  is — this  Presby — I  do  not  know  what  you  say.  But  I  do 
keep  my  books  that  belonged  to  me  in  France.  That  is  a 
good  book — it  can  do  no  harm  to  any  one " 

"  My  certes  !  here  is  a  pretty  convert !  It  can  do  no 
harm  to  any  one  ? — and  I  find  ye  in  the  middle  o'  the  day, 
greet  in1  ower  its  palaverins,  and  with  a  face  that  would  suit 
a  siiint  hitter  than  a  brisk  young  creature  o'  your  age. 
Ayrshire  is  no  the  place  for  saints — the  air  is  over  healthy. 
Come  here,  and  I  will  show  ye  the  book  that  ye  must 
lvad." 

She  led  Coquette  to  the  window,  and  began  to  expatiate 
on  the  enjoyments  of  boing  out  walking  on  such  a  day — 
with  the  spring  winds  stirring  the  young  corn,  and  ruffling 
the  distant  blue  of  the  sea.  Alas  !  all  that  Coquette  saw 
was  the  beginning  of  the  line  of  trees  that  led  down  to 
Ivuishope. 

"  Listen  now,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  I  have  come  here  on 
an  errand.  Ye  have  never  seen  Glasgow7.  I  am  going  up 
to-morrow  morning  ;  can  you  come  wi'  me — stay  two  or 
three  weeks — and  cheer  your  cousin's  exile  a  bit  ?  " 

Coquette's  conscience  smote  her  hard  ;  and  it  was  with  a 


218  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

quick  feeling  of  pain  and  remorse  that  she  thought  of  the 
Whaup.  She  had  almost  forgotten  him.  Far  away  in  the 
great  city  of  which  she  knew  so  little,  he  was  working  hard, 
buoyed  up  by  some  foolish  and  fond  notion  that  he  was 
pleasing  her.  All  at  once  her  heart  turned  towards  him 
with  a  great  affection  and  yearning.  She  would  make 
amends  for  the  wrong  which  he  had  unwittingly  suffered. 
She  would  go  at  once  to  Glasgow  :  and  would  shower  upon 
him  every  token  of  solicitude  and  kindness  that  she  could 
devise. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Lady  Drum  ! "  she  said,  with  evident  eagerness 
in  her  face.  "  I  will  go  with  you  as  soon  as  you  please. 
Have  you  seen  my  cousin  ?  Is  he  well  ?  Is  he  tired  of  his 
hard  work  ?  Does  he  speak  of  us  sometimes  ?  He  does  not 
think  we  have  forgotten  him  ?  " 

"  Hoity  toity  !  Twenty  questions  in  a  breath  !  Let  me 
tell  you  this,  my  young  lady,  that  your  cousin,  though  he 
says  nothing,  is  doing  wonders  ;  and  that  Dr.  Menzies,  to 
whom  the  Minister  confided  him,  is  fair  delighted  wi'  him, 
and  has  him  at  dinner  or  supper  twice  or  thrice  a  week  ;  and 
your  cousin  is  just  petted  beyond  measure  by  the  young 
leddies  o'  the  house  ;  and  bonnier  lasses  there  are  none  in 
Glasgow." 

Coquette  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  marry  one  of  them  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  wonderful  gladness  in  her  eyes. 

Lady  Drum  looked  at  her. 

"  Marry  one  o'  them  ?  Would  ye  like  to  see  him  marry 
one  o'  them  ?  Has  that  daft  picture-book  turned  your  head 
and  made  ye  determined  to  go  into  a  nunnery  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  he  marries  me,"  said  Coquette  in 
a  tone  of  protest.  "  A  young  man  must  choose  his  own 
wife — it  is  not  pleasant  for  him  to  be  made  to  marry  by  his 
friends." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  sigh.  "  Young 
folks  are  young  folks ;  and  they  will  pretend  that  the 
marmalade  they  would  like  to  steal  is  nothing  but  down- 
right medicine  to  them.  Ye  had  better  begin  to  think  about 
packing  up  for  to-morrow  morning." 

"  To-morrow  morning ! "  said  Coquette,  with  a  sudden 
tremor  of  apprehension. 


THE  NEMESIS  OF  LOVE.  219 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  go  to-morrow — I  cannot  go  to-morrow  : 
will  not  the  next  day  do,  Lady  Drum  ?  May  I  not  have 
one  day  more  ?  " 

Astonished  by  the  sudden  alteration  in  the  girl's  manner — 
from  delight  at  the  prospect  of  going  to  an  almost  agonising 
entreaty  to  be  left  alone  for  another  day — Lady  Drum  did 
not  reply  for  a  second. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  to-morrow  ?  "  said  the  elderly  lady, 
at  last,  regarding  the  girl. 

"  It  is  nothing — it  is  not  much,"  stammered  Coquette, 
with  her  eyes  bent  on  the  ground.  "  Only  I  do  wish  to 
remain  at  Airlie  to-morrow.  It  is  only  one  day  longer,  Lady 
Drum." 

"  Why,  you  plead  as  if  I  were  to  take  ye  out  for  execution 
the  day  after.  If  it  will  serve  ye,  I  will  wait  for  another 
day  ;  and  on  Friday  morning,  at  ten  meenutes  to  ten, 
ye  must  be  at  the  station,  wi'  a'  your  trunks  and  things  in 
good  order." 

"  But  I  have  not  asked  my  uncle  yet,"  said  Coquette. 

"  I  have,  though,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  and  I'm  thinking 
he'll  no  miss  ye  except  at  breakfast.  Since  he  began  to 
get  up  that  Concordance  0'  the  Psalms,  he  seems  to  have 
withdrawn  himself  from  the  world  round  aboot  him,  and 
he's  just  as  it  were  dead  to  his  friends." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  ask  me  to  go  with  you,"  said 
Coquette,  suddenly  remembering  that  she  had  not  thanked 
Lady  Drum  for  her  offer. 

"  Na,  na,"  said  her  elderly  friend,  "  what  would  a  big 
house  be  without  a  young  leddy  in  it  to  bring  visitors 
about  ?  And  this  time,  I  must  tell  ye,  a  friend  o'  Sir 
Peter's  has  given  us  the  loan  0'  his  house  until  he  comes  back 
from  Italy  ;  and  it  is  a  big  house  overlooking  the  West 
End  Park  ;  and  I'm  thinking  we'll  find  it  more  comfortable 
than  a  hotel.  And  we  will  have  some  company  ;  and  it  will 
no  be  amiss  if  ye  bring  wi'  ye  such  French  ornaments  or 
dresses  as  might  be  rather  out  o'  place  in  the  Manse  o' 
Airlie.  And  I  am  sure  ye  will  be  quite  surprised  to  see 
your  cousin — looking  a  fine,  strapping,  well-set-up  young 
gentleman,  instead  o'  a  lang-leggit  laddie  ;  and  it  is  just 
possible  Lord  Earlshope  may  pay  us  a  visit  some  evening." 


220  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Did  Lady  Drum  throw  out  this  hint  as  a  vague  feeler  ? 
She  had  never  penetrated  the  mystery  which  had  seemed  to 
surround  the  relations  between  Coquette  and  Lord  Earlshope 
during  their  voyage  in  the  Highlands.  She  had,  indeed, 
destroyed  the  scrap  of  writing  handed  to  her  by  Coquette 
when  the  girl  was  delirious,  unwilling  to  bother  herself  with 
a  secret  which  did  not  concern  her.  Still,  Lady  Drum  was 
just  a  trifle  curious.  There  was  something  very  peculiar 
and  interesting  in  the  odd  notions  which  this  young  French 
creature  appeared  to  have  acquired  about  love  and  marriage. 
Lady  Drum  had  never  met  with  any  one  who  held  but  the 
ordinary  and  accepted  theories  on  that  attractive  subject. 
Yet  here  was  a  young  lady  who  calmly  contemplated  the 
possibility  of  loving  some  one  whom  circumstances  might 
prevent  her  marrying  ;  and  at  the  same  time  seemed  in  no 
wise  disinclined  to  accept  the  recommendations  of  her 
relatives  and  friends  as  to  her  choice  of  a  husband.  Were 
these  French  notions  of  the  duty  of  daughters  to  their 
parents  ?  Or  had  they  been  picked  up  in  idle  speculation, 
and  not  yet  driven  away — as  Lady  Drum  felt  certain  they 
would  be  driven  away  by  a  real  love  affair  ?  At  all  events, 
the  mention  of  Earlshope's  name  at  once  arrested  Coquette's 
attention. 

"  Does  Lord  Earlshope  ever  go  to  Glasgow  ?  "  she  asked. 

"What  for  no?" 

"  And  is  he  likely  to  meet  my  cousin  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  Assuredly.     Why  not  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

"I  did  merely  ask  a  question,"  said  Coquette,  with 
thoughtful  eyes. 

Then  Lady  Drum  bade  her  come  down-stairs.  The 
Minister  was  brought  out  of  his  study  ;  and  they  had  a  little 
talk  over  Coquette's  projected  trip.  At  length,  Lady  Drum 
sent  to  see  if  her  coachman  was  ready  ;  and,  finally,  with 
a  pleasant  "  au  revaur,  ma  fee  I  au  revaur  I  "  the  old  lady 
walked  in  her  grand  and  stately  fashion  across  the  small 
garden,  got  into  her  carriage,  and  was  driven  away  from 
Airlie  Manse. 

There  remained  to  Coquette  but  one  day  on  which  she 
had  the  chance  of  seeing  Lord  Earlshope  ;  and  how  was  she 
to  bring  about  a  meeting  which  she  half  feared,  yet  could 
not  wholly  forego  ? 


THE  LAST  DAY  AT  AIRLIE.  .     221 


CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

THE  LAST  DAY  AT  AIRLIE. 

All  during  that  evening,  and  in  thinking  of  the  next 
morning,  she  nursed  a  sweet  and  strange  poison  at  her  heart. 
Love  seemed  no  longer  to  be  so  terrible  as  on  that  ghostly 
evening  in  Loch  Scavaig ;  and  she  grew  accustomed  to  the 
danger ;  and  she  was  glad  that,  come  what  might,  this 
flower  of  life  had  at  length  fallen  upon  her  and  she  knew  its 
fragrance.  Had  she  not  been  told,  in  many  of  those  old 
stories,  that  love  for  love's  sake  was  enough  ?  She  did  not 
care  to  count  its  cost.  She  scarcely  paid  any  heed  as  to 
how  it  might  end.  Sufficient  to  know  that  now,  at  this 
moment,  her  heart  was  beating  wildly  against  its  prison- 
bars  ;  and  would  fain  have  taken  wings  and  flown  over  the 
moor  towards  Earlshope,  if  only  to  die  on  finding  a  haven. 

Nor  was  there  much  disquiet  in  her  look  the  next 
morning  when  she  rose  and  discovered  that  another  bright 
and  clear  day  had  come  to  mark  her  farewell  to  Airlie.  She 
was  hurried  and  excited,  perhaps,  in  preparing  to  go  out, 
but  she  was  joyful,  too  ;  and  the  early  morning  sunshine, 
streaming  in  through  the  small  window,  found  her  eyes  full 
of  gladness  and  hope. 

Yet  how  was  she  to  communicate  with  Lord  Earlshope, 
and  let  him  know  that  she  wished  to  say  good-bye  to  him  ? 
Clearly,  neither  her  uncle  nor  Lady  Drum  knew  that  he 
had  returned.  She  dared  not  send  him  a  message;  and 
equally  impossible  was  it  for  her  to  go  up  alone  to  the 
house.  Her  hope  was  that  he  would  be  on  the  watch  for 
her  ;  and  that  another  stolen  interview  would  mark  the  last 
day  she  had  for  the  present  to  spend  at  Airlie. 

She  was  not  mistaken  in  that  vague  surmise.  When  she 
went  out  for  her  accustomed  stroll,  she  had  wandered  but  a 
little  way  when  she  found  him  approaching  her.  His  look 
was  anxious  ;  but  hers  was  full  of  affection  and  trust. 

"  You  are  no  longer  alarmed  to  see  me  ? "  he  asked, 
wondering. 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  Why  should   I  ?     Perhaps   I  ought 


222  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

not  to  meet  you  in  this  way ;  but  it  will  not  be  for  long. 
And  you — you  seem  to  have  dropped  from  the  clouds." 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Manse." 

"  To  the  Manse  !  "  she  repeated,  in  some  dismay. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  any  reason  why  I  should  not  call 
upon  your  uncle  ?  I  dared  not  go  near  the  place  until  I 
had  assured  myself  I  should  not  be  annoying  you.  And 
now  I  hope  to  be  able  to  call  and  see  you  there,  instead 
of  inveigling  you  into  these  surreptitious  meetings,  even 
although  they  have  the  charm  of  secrecy — and  of  Russian 
slippers." 

He  had  caught  some  faint  reflex  of  cheerfulness  from  the 
gladness  of  her  face  ;  but  there  was  still  about  him  a  look 
of  constraint  and  anxiety. 

" It  is  too  late  to  think  of  that,"  she  said  ;  "I  go  to 
Glasgow  to-morrow." 

"  Have  they  found  out  ?  Are  they  sending  you  away  ?  " 
he  asked,  hurriedly. 

"  No  ;  there  is  nothing  to  find  out.  But  Lady  Drum, 
she  is  good  enough  to  ask  me  to  go  with  her ;  and  there  I 
will  see  my  cousin,  whom  I  have  promised  to  visit  often,  yet 
have  never  been  able.  And  I  am  sorry  for  him  ;  alone  in 
that  great  place,  and  the  people  here  nearly  forgetting  him. 
Does  he  not  deserve  some  reparation,  some  kindness  from 
me  ? " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  ;  and  he  knew  that  she  meant 
more  than  appeared  in  her  words. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Earls  hope,  after  a  little  while,  "if  he 
does  hope  to  win  your  love ;  if  he  is  working  there  with 
the  far-off  intention  of  coming  back  here  and  asking  you  to 
be  his  wife  ?   If  that  is  so,  we  have  acted  very  cruelly  by  him." 

"  Ah,  not  cruelly  !  "  she  said,  as  if  begging  him  to  reassure 
her.  "  If  we  have  forgotten  him,  can  I  not  make  it  up  to 
him  ?  You  will  see,  when  I  go  to  Glasgow,  I  will  be  very 
kind  to  him — he  will  not  think  that  he  has  been  ill-used." 

"  But  he  will  think  that  you  are  still  looking  favourably 
on  his  vague  hopes — he  will  be  all  the  more  assured  that, 
some  day  or  other,  you  will  become  his  wife." 

'.'And  if  that  will  make  him  happy,"  she  said,  slowly  and 
with  absent  eyes,  "  there  is  nothing  I  will  not  do  to  make, 
him  happy." 


THE  LAST  DAY  AT  AIRLIE.  223 

Earlshope  regarded  her  with  a  strange  look. 

"  You  would  become  his  wife  ?  " 

"  If  that  only  would  make  him  happy — yes.  He  deserves 
so  much  from  me — I  will  do  that,  if  he  demands  it." 

"  You  will  marry  him,  and  make  him  fancy  that  you  love 
him  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  should  tell  him  everything. 
I  should  tell  him  that  he  deserves  to  marry  a  woman  who 
has  never  loved  any  one  but  himself  ;  and  yet  that  I — if  his 
marrying  me  will  alone  make  him  happy — I  will  do  what  I 
can,  and  be  his  wife." 

"  So  the  world  goes,"  said  her  companion,  with  a  sudden 
bitterness  in  bis  tone  ;  "  and  it  is  the  good,  and  the  true, 
and  the  noble  that  suffer.  You  are  far  too  unselfish  to  lead 
a  bappy  life,  Coquette.  You  will  sacrifice  yourself,  sooner 
or  later,  for  the  sake  of  some  one  you  love  ;  and  the  reward 
yon  will  gej  will  be  reprobation  and  the  outcry  of  the  crowd. 
And  I — I  have  so  far  paved  the  way  for  all  this  that  if  I 
<ould  free  you  at  this  moment  by  laying  down  my  own  life, 
yon  would  find  it  no  vain  boast  when  I  say  now  that  I 
would  do  it  willingly." 

"  But  you  have  not  made  me  suffer,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  Look  now  and  see  whether  I  am  sad  or  miserable.  I  have 
been  so  happy  all  this  morning,  merely  to  think  I  should  see 
you — that  is  enough  ;  and  now  you  are  here  I  am  content. 
I  wish  no  more  in  the  world." 

"  But  Coquette — don't  you  see  ? — it  cannot  end  here,"  he 
said,  almost  desperately.  "  You  do  not  know  the  chains  in 
which  I  am  bound.  1 — I  dare  not  tell  you — and  yet,  before 
you  go  to  Glasgow " 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  the  same  gentle  voice.  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  know.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  be  beside  you  as  now 
— whatever  is  in  store  for  us.  And  if  it  should  all  be  bad 
and  sorrowful,  I  shall  remember  that  once  I  was  satisfied — 
that  once  I  walked  with  you  here  one  morning,  and  we  had 
no  thought  of  ill,  and  we  were  for  a  little  while  happy." 

"  But  I  cannot  stop  there,"  said  be.  "  I  must  look  at  the 
future.     Oh,  my  poor  girl,  I  think  it  would  ha  a  better 

for  us  both  had  we  never  been  born  ! " 

She  drew  hack  from  him  amazed  and  alarmed.  All  the 
grave  kindliness  of  his  face  had  gone,  and  he  was  regarding 


224  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

her  with  eyes  so  full  of  pity  and  of  love  that  her  heart  grew 
still  with  fear.  Why  was  it  that,  at  the  very  moment  when 
they  were  most  peaceful  and  happy — when  she  merely 
wished  to  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  being  near  him,  leaving 
the  future  to  take  care  of  itself — why  was  it  that  this 
unnameable  something  should  come  in  between  them,  and 
bid  her  begone  from  a  man  who  had  that  to  say  which  he 
dared  not  tell  her  ?  Yet  her  hesitation  lasted  but  a  moment. 
After  all,  she  thought,  what  was  her  happiness  in  comparison 
with  that  of  the  man  she  loved  ?  She  saw  the  pain  and  the 
despair  written  on  his  face,  and  she  drew  nearer  to  him 
again,  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  I  shall  never  wish  that  I  had  not  been  born,"  she  said, 

for  I  have  known  you  a  little  while,  and  I  have  walked 
with  you  here.  The  rest  is  nothing.  What  can  harm  us,  if 
we  are  true  to  ourselves,  and  do  what  we  think  is  right  ?  " 

"  That  is  possible  to  you — who  are  as  clear-souled  as  an 
angel,"  he  said. 

Now  what  could  ail  two  lovers  who  were  walking  thus  in 
the  happy  spring-time — alone  together — with  youth  in  their 
eyes,  and  all  the  world  before  them  ?  Was  it  not  enough  for 
them  to  be  ?  All  things  around  them  were  peaceful  in  the 
sunlight ;  the  fields  lay  still  and  warm  in  their  coating  of 
young  green  ;  the  birds  were  busy  in  the  leaves  of  the  hedges  ; 
and  there  was  many  a  jubilant  note  in  the  woods.  Far  away 
in  the  south  there  lay  a  faint  blue  smoke  over  the  houses  of 
Ayr  ;  but  no  murmur  of  toil  and  struggle  reached  them  up 
on  these  moorland  heights.  The  moor  itself,  and  the  fields, 
and  the  valleys  were  as  still  as  the  sea  ;  which  shone  and 
trembled  a  pure  and  pale  azure  until  it  was  lost  in  the  white 
of  the  horizon.  They  only  seemed  out  of  consonance  with 
the  peace  of  this  mild  and  clear  spring  day,  in  which  the 
world  lay  and  basked. 

They  strolled  on  together — Coquette  sometimes  picking 
up  a  flower — until  they  had  got  down  to  that  corner  of  the 
Earlshope  grounds  where  the  small  gate  was.  They  had 
come  thither  unintentionally. 

"  Shall  we  go  in  ?  "  said  her  companion. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette.  "  It  is  too  beautiful  outside 
to-day.  Why  cannot  we  be  away  yonder  on  the  sea,  and 
sail  along  the  coast  of  Arran,  and  on  and  up  Loch  Fyne, 


THE  LAST  DAY  AT  AIRLIE.  225 

where  the  still  blue  lake  is  ?  I  do  remember  it  was  so 
pleasant  there — bub  afterwards " 

A  cloud  fell  over  her  face,  and  Earlshope  hastened  to 
change  the  subject.  He  spoke  of  her  going  to  Glasgow  ; 
of  the  chances  of  his  seeing  her  there  ;  of  the  time  she 
would  be  likely  to  stay.  By  this  time  they  had  turned 
again,  and  were  walking  in  the  direction  of  the  Manse. 
Somehow  or  other,  Coquette  seemed  unwilling  to  speak  of 
Glasgow,  or  to  admit  that  she  hoped  to  meet  him.  When, 
indeed,  they  had  come  within  sight  of  the  house,  Coquette 
stopped,  and  said  she  would  bid  him  good-bye  there. 

"  But  why  are  you  so  sad,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said.  "  This 
is  no  farewell ;  most  likely  I  shall  be  in  Glasgow  before 
you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground. 

"  Why  ?  What  hidden  notion  of  self-sacrifice  have  you 
adopted  now  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  know  what  reparation  I  do  owe  to 
my  cousin.  It  is  for  him  I  go  to  Glasgow.  You  must  not 
coi ii(3  if  it  will  annoy  him — the  poor  boy  !  who  has  not  much 
to  comfort  him  except — except " 

"Except  the  thought  of  marrying  you,  Coquette,"  said 
Earlshope  ;  "  and  you — you  seem  to  think  nothing  of  your- 
self, if  only  you  can  secure  the  happiness  of  everybody 
else.  Ah,  well,  if  you  wish  me  not  to  see  you  while  you 
are  in  (Jlasgow,  I  will  remain  away.  Let  your  cousin  have 
that  brief  time  of  enjoyment.  But  for  us  two,  Coquette 
— for  us  two  there  is  no  hope  of  this  separation  being 
onal." 

"  Hope  ?  "  she  said.  "  Why  do  you  hope  it  ?  Is  it  not 
pleasant  for  us  to  sec  cadi  other,  if  only  we  do  no  harm  or 
pain  to  our  friends  ?  Why  do  you  speak  in  that  way,  as  if 
some  great  trouble  was  about  to  befall  us  ?  Sometimes  I  do 
fear  what  you  say  ;  and  I  think  of  it  at  night ;  and  I  tremble  ; 
for  I  have  no  one  that  I  can  speak  to  ;  but  in  the  morning 
these  fears  go  away ;  for  I  look  out  of  the  window,  anil 
1  know  you  are  near  Earlshope,  and  I  am  only  anxious  to 
see  you." 

"My  darling  !  "  he  said,  with  a  look  of  great  compassion 
and  tenderness  in  his  eyes.    "  You  deserve  the  happiest  life 

Q 


226  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

that  ever  a  true-hearted  woman  enjoyed  ;  and  when  I  think 
what  I  have  done  to  make  you  miserable " 

"  Ah,  not  miserable  !  "  she  said.  "  Do  I  look  -miserable  ? 
You  must  not  think  that ;  nor  that  I  am  at  all  miserable  in 
Glasgow.     No,  good-bye — good-bye " 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"With  that  she  looked  down,  and  said  in  a  very  low  voice — 

"If  you  are  weary  here — you  may  come  to  see  me  in 
Glasgow — once,  twice,  but  not  often " 

The  rest  of  her  words  were  lost,  for  she  found  herself 
once  more  folded  in  his  arms,  as  he  bade  her  good-bye,  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Good-bye,  Coquette,  good-bye  !  "  he  said,  tenderly  ;  and 
when  she  had  gone  some  way  across  the  moor,  and  turned 
and  saw  him  still  standing  there,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
still  heard  him  say  "  Good-bye."  He  waved  a  handkerchief 
to  her  ;  it  was  as  if  he  were  on  board  a  vessel  standing  out  to 
sea,  and  that  soon  a  great  and  desolate  ocean  would  roll 
between  them.  When  she  got  home,  and  went  up  into  her 
own  room,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  there  was  no 
ligure  visible  on  the  wide  expanse  of  the  moor.  There  was 
nothing  there  but  the  sunshine  and  the  quiet. 

This  was  the  first  day  that  Coquette  had  known  the  joy  of 
being  loved  ;  and  lo  !  it  was  already  empty.  Fair  and  beau- 
tiful the  morning  had  been — a  day  to  be  marked  with  a  white 
stone  in  her  memory  ;  but  it  was  already  numbered  with  the 
times  that  were.  And  the  love  that  filled  her  heart — it  was 
no  gay  and  happy  thing,  to  make  her  laugh  and  sing  out  of 
pure  delight ;  but  an  unrest  and  a  care  she  was  now  to  carry 
always  with  her,  wondering  whether  its  sweetness  Avere  as 
great  as  its  pain. 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

COQUETTE  IN  TOWN. 

As  Coquette  and  Lady  Drum  drew  near  to  Glasgow  the 
impatience  of  the  girl  increased.  Her  thoughts  flew  on  more 
swiftly  than  the  train  ;  and  they  were  all  directed  towards 
the  Whaup,  whom  she  was  now  about  to  see.   • 

"  Will   he  be  at  the  station  ?     Does  he  know  we  are 


COQUETTE  IN  TOWN,  227 

coming  ?     Or  shall  we  see  him  as  we  go  along  the  streets  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Lady  Drum.  "  Ye  seem  to  think  that 
Glasgow  is  no  bigger  than  Saltcoats.  Meet  him  in  the 
streets  ?  We  should  scarce  see  him  in  the  streets  if  he  were 
dressed  in  scaurlet." 

It  was  growing  towards  dusk  when  the  two  ladies  arrived. 
Lady  Drum's  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  station  ;  and  pre- 
sently Coquette  found  herself  in  the  midst  of  the  roar  and 
turmoil  of  the  great  city.  The  lamps  on  the  bridges  were 
burning  yellow  in  the  grey  coldness  of  the  twilight ;  and  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  masses  of  shipping  down  in  the  dusky 
bed  of  the  river.  Then  up  through  the  busy  streets — where 
the  windows  were  growing  bright  with  gas,  and  dense  crowds 
of  people  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  the  carts,  and 
waggons,  and  carriages  were  raising  a  din  that  was  strange 
and  bewildering  to  ears  grown  accustomed  to  the  stillness 
of  Airlie. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Coquette,  "  I  cannot  see  him  in  this  crowd 
— it  is  impossible." 

Lady  Drum  laughed,  and  said  nothing.  And  so  they 
drove  on — the  high,  old-fashioned  chariot,  which  ought  to 
have  been  kept  for  state  purposes  down  at  Castle  Cawmil, 
swinging  gently  on  its  big  springs — up  to  the  north-western 
districts  of  the  city.  When  Coquette  was  finally  set  down  in 
front  of  a  range  of  tall  houses,  the  rooms  of  which  were 
shining  ruddily  through  crimson  curtains,  she  got  up  the 
steps,  and  turned  to  take  a  look  at  her  new  place  of  abode. 
Behold  !  in  front  of  her  there  was  no  more  city  ;  but  a  great 
gulf  of  pale  blue  mist,  with  here  and  there  an  orange  lamp 
burning  in  the  distance.  There  were  no  more  streets,  nor 
crowds,  nor  great  waggons ;  and  she  even  became  aware  that 
there  were  trees  in  front  of  her,  down  there  in  the  mysterious 
hollow. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  not  a  town — are  we  in 
the  country  again  ?     And  where  is  my  cousin  ?  " 

At  this  moment  the  hall  door  was  thrown  open  by  a 
servant ;  and  out  of  the  blaze  of  light  came  a  dapper  and 
fat  little  gentleman,  who,  with  some  brief  exclamation  of 
welcome,  darted  down  the  steps  and  gave  his  arm  to 
Coquette. 

Q  2 


228  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Charmed  to  see  you,  Miss  Cassilis,"  cried  Sir  Peter  ; 
"  hope  yon  will  have  many  a  pleasant  evening — many,  and 
many,  and  many  a  pleasant  evening.   Yes,  yes,  yes,  indeed  !  " 

Then  he  was  about  to  hand  her  over  in  his  airy  fashion 
to  the  young  person  who  had  been  told  off  as  her  maid  ;  but 
Miss  Coquette  was  rebellious. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  do  wish  to  go  and  see  my  cousin 
before  anything ;  he  does  not  know  I  am  in  this  town  ;  it 
will  be  good-natured  of  you,  Sir  Peter,  to  come  with  me." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  certainly  !  Roberts,  hold  on  for  a  minute  ! 
My  lady,  keep  dinner  to  half-past  eight.  Come  along,  my 
dear.     H'm  !  Ha  !  Ha-ha-ha  !  " 

Lady  Drum  stood  at  the  open  door,  amazed.  Indeed,  she 
was  so  astounded  by  this  mad  project  on  the  part  of  her 
husband — within  an  hour  of  dinner-time — that  she  had  not 
a  word  to  say  ;  and  in  blank  astonishment  she  beheld  the 
carriage  drive  off.  Once  more  Coquette  found  herself  getting 
into  a  labyrinth  of  streets  ;  and  the  farther  they  drove  the 
more  noisy  and  dingy  they  seemed  to  become.  She  began  to 
wonder  if  it  was  in  this  place  that  the  Whaup  had  been 
living  for  so  long  a  time,  and  how  the  thought  of  Airlie  and 
the  wild  moorland  and  the  sea  had  not  broken  his  heart. 

It  happens  to  most  lads  who  go  to  college  that  they  attach 
themselves  to  some  friend  and  companion  considerably  older 
than  themselves,  who  proceeds  to  act  as  their  counsellor, 
teacher,  and  ally.  Nothing  of  the  kind  was  possible  to  the 
Whaup.  His  individuality  was  too'strong  to  admit  of  any 
such  submission.  No  sooner  had  he  thrown  himself  into  the 
midst  of  college  life  than  his  exuberant  spirits,  along  with  a 
touch  of  his  old  love  of  devilment,  attracted  round  him  a  con- 
siderable circle  of  associates,  of  whom  he  was  the  heart  and 
soul.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  Whaup  and  his  friends  did 
not  form  the  most  studious  coterie  to  be  found  in  the  old 
High  Street  building.  Plenty  of  study  there  was  ;  and  the 
Whaup  worked  as  hard  as  any  of  them  ;  but  the  wild  even- 
ings which  these  young  gentlemen  spent  in  their  respective 
lodgings — the  stories  told  of  their  daredevil  pranks — and  the 
very  free-and-easy  manners  of  more  than  one  mother's  son 
among  them — gained  for  this  band  a  dangerous  reputation. 
They  were  held  to  be  rather  wild  by  the  more  discreet  and 
methodical  of  their  fellow-collegians.  The  Whaup  himself  was 


COQUETTE  IN  TOWN.  229 

known  to  stick  at  nothing.  His  splendid  physique  gave  him 
many  advantages ;  and  after  having  let  daylight  come  in 
upon  their  rambling  and  hotheaded  disquisitions  on  poetry 
or  "  metapheesics,"  on  their  too  copious  beer-drinking,  and 
smoking  of  lengthy  clays,  many  were  chagrined  to  meet  the 
Whaup  in  the  forenoon  as  fresh  and  pink  as  a  daisy,  having 
just  completed  his  morning  classes,  and  setting  out  for 
a  long  swinging  walk  round  by  the  Botanic  Gardens  and 
the  Kelvin. 

"  What  a  powerful  young  fellow  your  cousin  is,"  said  Sir 
Peter,  as  they  drove  along  George  Street.  "  Did  you  hear  of 
his  adventure  at  the  theatre  ?  No  ?  Good  story  ;  very  good 
story  ;  ho  !  ho  !  excellent  story.  He  takes  three  young  ladies 
to  the  theatre — cabman  insults  him — he  hands  the  young 
ladies  into  the  theatre,  comes  back,  hauls  the  cabman  down 
from  his  box  and  gives  him  a  thorough  thrashing  in  about 
u  minute.  Up  comes  another  cabman,  squares  up,  is  sent 
Siring  into  the  arms  of  a  policeman  ;  the  policeman  admires 
pluck,  and  says  it  serves  them  both  right.  Your  cousin  goes 
into  the  theatre,  sits  down,  nobody  knows.  Ho,  ho !  Ha, 
ha  !  Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  But,  pray,  who  were  the  young  ladies  ?  "  asked  Coquette, 
with  a  touch  of  proud  asperity. 

"Young  ladies— young  ladies — young  ladies — who  can 
remember  the  names  of  young  ladies  ? "  said,  or  rather 
hummed,  Sir  Peter,  keeping  time  by  tapping  on  the  carnage 
window.  "  Why,  I  remember  !  Those  charming  girls  that 
sing — what's  the  song  ? — why,  the  doctor's  daughters,  you 
know,  Kate,  and  Mary,  and  Bess — all  of  them  Menzies, 
Menzies,  Menzies  ! " 

"  I  think  my  cousin  ought  to  attend  to  his  studies,  rather 
than  go  about  with  young  ladies,"  said  Coquette. 

"  So,  ho  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter.  "  Must  a  young  man  have 
no  amusement  ?  Suppose  he  caps  his  studies  by  marrying 
one  of  the  doctor's  daughters  !  " 

"There  are  plenty  to  choose  from,"  said  Coquette,  with 
an  air  of  disdain. 

Indeed,  the  mention  of  those  three  young  ladies  rendered 
Coquette  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  drive  ;  and  Sir  Peter  was 
left  to  talk  and  hum  to  himself.  Yet  it  was  but  a  little 
time  before  that  Coquette  had  clapped  her  hands  with  joy  on 


230  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

hearing  that  the  Whaup  had  made  those  acquaintances,  and 
that  she  had  eagerly  asked  Lady  Drum  if  it  was  probable  he 
might  marry  one  of  them.  "Why  should  she  suddenly  feel 
jealous  now,  and  refuse  to  speak  to  this  poor  Sir  Peter,  who 
was  risking  his  dinner  to  do  her  a  service  ? 

Her  face  lightened  considerably  when  the  carriage  was 
pulled  up  ;  and  she  got  out  to  look  with  some  curiosity  on 
the  gaunt  and  grey  house  in  George  Street,  which  bore  a 
number  she  had  often  written  on  her  letters.  Many  a  time 
she  had  thought  of  this  house,  and  mentally  drawn  a  picture 
of  it.  Bat  the  picture  she  had  drawn  was  of  a  small  building 
with  a  porch,  and  green  casements,  and  a  big  square  in  front, 
with  trees  in  it — in  short,  she  had  thought  of  a  quiet 
thoroughfare  in  an  old-fashioned  French  town.  She  was 
more  grieved  than  disappointed  with  the  ugliness  of  this 
house. 

Sir  Peter  led  her  along  the  entry,  and  up  the  stone  stairs  to 
the  first  landing.  It  was  her  first  introduction  to  the  Scotch 
system  of  building  houses.  But  her  attention  was  suddenly 
withdrawn  from  this  matter  by  a  considerable  noise  within  ; 
and  over  the  noise  there  broke  the  music  of  a  song,  which 
was  plentifully  accompanied  by  rappings  on  a  table  or  on 
the  floor. 

"  Ah,  c'est  lui  ! "  she  suddenly  cried.  "  I  do  know  it 
is  he." 

The  Whaup,  to  tell  the  truth,  had  not  a  very  beautiful 
voice ;  but  it  was  strong  enough ;  and  both  Sir  Peter  and 
Coquette  could  hear  him  carelessly  shouting  the  words  of  an 
old  English  ballad — 

Come  lasses  and  lads,  away  from  your  dads, 

And  away  to  the  maypole  hie, 
For  every  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 
And  the  fiddlers  standing  by ! 

For  Willy  shall  dance  with  Jane, 
And  Johnny  has  got  his  Joan, 
To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it  up   and  down 

— while  there  was  a  measured  beating  of  hands  and  feet.  Sir 
Peter  had  to  knock  twice  before  any  one  answered ;  and 
when  the  door  was  opened,  lo  !  it  was  the  "Whaup  himself 
who  appeared — there  being  no  one  else  in  the  house  to 
perform  this  office. 


COQUETTE  IN  TOWN.  231 

"  What  !  is  it  you,  Coquette  ! "  he  cried,  seizing  botli 
her  hands. 

"  Oh,  you  bad  boy  !  "  she  cried.  "  How  you  do  smell  of 
tobacco  ! " 

And,  indeed,  there  came  from  the  apartment  he  had  just 
left — the  door  of  which  was  also  wide  open — rolling  volumes 
of  smoke,  which  nearly  took  Sir  Peter's  breath  away. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Mine  is 
the  only  room  in  the  house  that  isn't  in  confusion  just 
now " 

"  We  will  go  in  and  see  your  friends,  if  you  do  not  object, 
and  if  the  gentlemen  will  permit  us,"  said  Coquette,  at  once. 
Perhaps  she  was  desirous  of  knowing  what  company  he  kept. 

You  should  have  seen  how  swiftly  those  young  men  put 
away  their  pipes  ;  and  how  anxious  they  were  to  get  Coquette 
a  chair  ;  and  how  they  strove  to  look  very  mild  and  good. 
You  would  have  fancied  they  had  been  holding  a  prayer 
meeting ;  but  their  manner  changed  perceptibly  when 
Coquette  hoped  she  had  not  interrupted  their  smoking,  and 
graciously  asked  that  the  gentleman  who  had  been  singing 
should  continue — at  which  there  was  much  laughter,  for  the 
Whaup  looked  confused.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  re- 
awakening of  voices  that  Sir  Peter  (who  was  beginning  to 
feel  uncomfortable  about  his  dinner)  explained  the  object  of 
his  visit,  and  asked  the  Whaup  if  he  could  come  along  later 
in  the  evening.  Of  course,  his  friends  counselled  him  to 
go  at  once  ;  but  he  was  not  so  lost  to  all  notions  of 
hospitality. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  I  will  come  and  see  you  to-morrow 
night." 

Coquette  seemed  hurt. 

"  Well,"  said  her  cousin  to  her,  with  a  dash  of  his  old 
impertinence,  "you  can  stay  here  if  you  like,  and  let  Sir 
Peter  go  home  with  an  excuse  for  you." 

The  young  men  appeared  as  if  they  would  have  liked 
to  second  that  invitation,  but  dared  not.  Indeed,  they  re- 
garded Coquette — wrhose  foreign  accent  they  had  noticed — 
in  rather  an  awe-stricken  way.  Perhaps  she  was  a  French 
princess  who  had  come  on  a  visit  to  Sir  Peter ;  and  she 
looked  like  a  princess,  and  had  the  calm  graciousness  and 
self-possession  of  a  princess.     That  was  no  blushing  country 


232  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

girl  who  sat  there — the  small  lady  with  the  delicate  and  pale 
features  and  the  large,  quiet,  dark  eyes,  who  had  such  a 
wonderful  air  of  ease  and  refinement.  The  rough  students 
felt  their  gaze  fall  when  she  looked  at  them.  What  would 
they  not  have  given  to  have  spoken  with  her  for  a  whole 
evening,  and  looked  at  the  wonders  of  her  costume  and  the 
splendour  of  her  dark  hair  ? 

"  What  do  you  say,  Coquette  ?  "  said  the  Whaup ;  and 
they  all  pricked  up  their  ears  to  hear  her  called  by  this 
strange  name. 

Coquette  laughed.  Doubtless  she  considered  the  proposal 
as  a  piece  of  her  cousin's  raillery;  but  any  one  at  all 
conversant  with  the  secret  likings  of  the  young  lady — as  the 
Whaup  was — must  have  known  that  she  was  perhaps  not  so 
averse  to  spending  an  evening  with  a  lot  of  young  students 
as  she  ought  to  have  been. 

"Perhaps  I  should  like  it,"  she  said,  frankly,  "if  you 
did  all  sing  to  me — and  tell  stories — and  make  me  one  of 
your  companions.  But  I  am  very  hungry — I  have  had  no 
dinner." 

"  Bravely  and  sensibly  spoken  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  who  had 
become  alarmed  by  this  outrageous  suggestion  put  forward 
by  the  Whaup.  "  Come  along,  my  dear  Miss  Cassilis  ;  your 
cousin  will  call  and  see  you  to-morrow  night." 

"Good-bye,  Tom,"  said  Coquette.  "I  am  pleased  you 
enjoy  yourself  in  Glasgow.  It  is  not  all  study  and  books- 
no  ?  And  now  I  understand  why  you  did  write  to  me  such 
very  short  letters." 

"  Look  here,  Coquette,"  said  he,  as  they  were  about  to  go. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow  morning  ?  I  suppose 
you'll  be  driving  about,  and  visiting  grand  people,  and  you 
won't  have  a  word  for  me." 

"  Ah,  you  wicked  boy,  to  say  that !  "  she  said,  reproach- 
fully. "  You  will  come  for  me  to-morrow  when  you  choose 
— nine,  ten,  eleven — and  we  will  go  for  a  walk  just  where 
you  please ;  and  I  will  speak  to  nobody  but  you  ;  and  you 
shall  show  me  all  the  things  worth  seeing  in  Glasgow  and 
round  about." 

"  Why,  Coquette,  it  is  all  like  a  dream  come  true  ! "  he 
cried.     "  And  to  think  that  you  are  in  Glasgow  at  last !  " 
With  that,  Sir  Peter  offered  the  young  lady  his  arm,  and 


COQUETTE  IN  TOWN.  233 

hurried  her  down  stairs.  He  was  becoming  more  and  more 
anxious  about  his  dinner. 

The  Whaup  returned  to  his  companions,  and  instantly 
perceived  that  they  were  treating  him  with  unusual  respect. 
They  would  talk,  also,  about  the  young  lady  ;  and  whether 
she  was  to  remain  long  in  Glasgow  ;  and  where  the  Whaup 
had  seen  her  first ;  and  whether  she  would  likely  be  up  at 
his  rooms  any  other  evening.  Master  Tom  was  not  very 
communicative  ;  but  at  last  one  ventured  to  say — 

"  Tell  us,  now,  Cassilis,  is  she  likely  to  be  married  soon  ?  " 

"  She  is,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  me,"  said  the  Whaup. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

ALL  ABOUT   KELVIX-SIDE. 

Talk  of  Glasgow  being  a  sombre  grey  city  !  When  the 
Whaup  got  up  next  morning  at  half-past  six,  and  looked  out, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  empty  pavements  were  made  of 
gold  ;  that  the  fronts  of  the  houses  were  shining  with  a  happy 
light ;  and  the  air  full  of  a  delicious  tingling.  For  did  not 
the  great  city  hold  in  it  the  beating  heart  of  Coquette  ;  and 
were  not  all  its  thoroughfares  aware  of  the  consecration  that 
had  fallen  on  them  by  her  arrival  ?  Away  he  sped  to  his 
classes  ;  and  his  boots,  as  they  rang  in  the  street,  clattered 
"  Coquette  !  "  and  "  Coquette  !  "  and  "  Coquette  !  "  If  the 
Professor  had  known  that  Coquette  was  in  Glasgow',  would 
he  have  looked  so  dull,  and  been  so  miserably  slow  ?  What 
was  the  use  of  this  gabble  about  ancient  languages,  when 
Coquette  had  brought  her  pretty  French  idioms  with  her, 
and  was  even  now  getting  up  to  look  out  on  the  greenness  of 
Billhead  and  down  on  the  winding  waters  of  the  Kelvin. 
Alas !  why  were  the  half -horn's  so  full  of  minutes  ;  and 
might  not  the  sunshine  be  altogether  faded  out  of  the  sky 
before  he  could  get  westward  to  welcome  Coquette  ? 

He  dashed  home  from  college  to  his  lodgings  ;  and  there 
arrayed  himself  in  his  tidiest  garments ;  and  freshened 
himself  up,  singing  the  while  some  snatches  of  "  Sally  in  our 
Alley."    The  tall  and  smart  young  man  who  now  issued  into 


234  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

George  Street,  and  made  his  way  westward  as  fast  as  his 
long  legs  could  carry  him,  bore  but  little  resemblance  to 
the  devil-may-care  lad  who  had  lounged  about  Airlie  and 
tormented  his  father's  neighbours.  Yet  he  was  singing  one 
of  his  boyish  songs  as  he  strode  along  the  thoroughfares ; 
and  ever  and  anon  he  looked  up  at  the  sky  to  make  sure  that 
it  was  going  to  be  kindly  to  Coquette.  Why,  the  light  mist 
of  the  morning  was  now  clearing  away,  and  a  blaze  of  sun- 
shine was  striking  here  and  there  along  the  northern  side 
of  Sauchiehall  Street.  Tis  a  pleasant  street — under  certain 
circumstances.  Shops  are  its  landmarks ;  but  they  grow 
poetic  in  the  eyes  of  youth.  It  seemed  to  the  Whaup  that 
the  boots  in  the  windows  looked  unusually  elegant ;  that 
never  before  had  he  seen  such  taste  in  the  arrangement  of 
Normandy  pippins ;  that  even  the  odour  of  a  bakery  had 
something  in  it  that  touched  sweet  memories.  For,  indeed, 
the  shops  and  the  windows,  and  the  people,  and  Sauchiehall 
Street  itself,  were  to  him  on  that  morning  but  phantasms  ; 
and  all  around  him,  the  air,  and  the  sky,  and  the  sunshine, 
were  full  of  Coquette,  and  nothing  but  Coquette.  He  fell  in 
love  with  Sauchiehall  Street  on  that  morning ;  and  he  has 
never  quite  forgotten  his  old  affection. 

He  walked  up  to  the  front  of  the  great  house  overlooking 
the  Park,  which  Sir  Peter  had  borrowed  ;  and  was  glad  that 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  girl  instead  of  by  a  man-servant 
— a  creature  whom  he  half  feared  and  half  disliked.  The 
young  person  had  scarcely  shown  him  into  the  spacious 
drawing-room  when  he  heard  a  quick  flutter  of  a  dress, 
and  Coquette  herself  came  rushing  in,  overwhelming  him 
with  her  questions,  and  her  exclamations,  and  her  looks. 
For  she  could  not  understand  what  had  altered  him  so  much 
until  she  perceived  that  his  moustache,  which  had  been 
almost  invisible  on  their  last  meeting,  had  now  assumed 
quite  formidable  proportions  ;  and  it  was  only  a  significant 
threat  on  his  part  that  caused  her  to  cease  her  grave  and 
ironical  compliments. 

And  where  should  they  go  on  this  bright  summer 
morning  ? 

"  Lady  Drum,  she  has  gone  into  the  town  to  order  flowers 
for  the  grand  dinner  of  Friday,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  to  which 
you  are  invited,   Mr.    Whaup,    by   a    card  which   I   did 


ALL  ABOUT  KELVIN-SIDE.  235 

address  for  you  this  morning.  And  I  would  not  go  with 
her  ;  for  I  said — my  cousin  comes  for  me,  and  he  would  be 
angry  if  T  were  not  here,  and  he  is  very  disagreeable  when 
be  is  angry.  En/in,  let  us  go,  and  you  will  amuse  me  by  all 
that  is  to  be  seen." 

Now  when  Coquette  had  got  herself  ready,  and  they  went 
out,  the  Whaup  took  a  very  strange  road  to  the  city  by 
going  down  to  Kelvin  Bridge.  The  farther  they  went — 
over  by  Billhead  and  still  westward — the  less  appearance 
there  was  of  streets  and  shops  ;  until  the  Whaup  had  to 
confess  that  he  had  led  her,  of  set  purpose,  directly  away 
from  the  town.     And  so  they  went  into  the  country. 

lie  took  her  into  all  the  haunts  and  nooks  that  he  had 
explored  by  himself — down  to  the  Pear-tree  "Well — back 
again,  and  along  the  Kelvin,  and  then  up  by  the  cross 
road  which  leads  to  Maryhill.  Here  they  paused  in  their 
wanderings  to  look  over  the  great  extent  of  country  which 
lay  before  them  ;  and  the  Whaup  told  her,  that  far  away  on 
the  left,  if  she  had  a  wonderful  telescope,  she  might  see  the 
lonely  uplands  about  Airlie,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  long 
sweep  of  the  sea. 

"  I  used  to  come  up  here,"  he  said,  "  all  by  myself,  and 
wonder  what  you  were  doing  away  down  there.  And  when 
the  sun  came  out,  I  thought — *  Ah,  Coquette  is  happy  now.'  " 

"  All  that  is  very  pretty,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  and  I  should 
be  sorry  for  you,  perhaps.  But  I  do  find  you  have  still 
some  amusement.  What  is  it  you  sing — 'Come,  lasses  and 
lads,  away  from  your  dads '  ?     What  is  dads  ?  " 

"Never  mind,  Coquette.  It  is  only  a  song  to  keep  up 
one's  heart,  you  know — not  to  be  talked  about  on  a  morning 
like  this,  between  us  two.  I  want  to  say  something  very 
nice  to  you,  and  friendly,  and  even  sentimental ;  but  I  don't 
know  how.     What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  tell  you,"  remarked  Coquette,  with 
some  air  of  disdain. 

And  yet,  as  they  stood  there,  and  looked  over  the  far 
country  towards  Airlie  and  the  sea,  they  somehow  forgot  to 
talk.  Indeed,  as  Coquette,  leaning  on  the  low  stone  wall. 
gazed  away  westward,  a  shadow  seemed  to  cross  her  face. 
AVas  she  thinking  of  all  that  had  happened  there,  and  of  her 
present  position — mayhap  working  grievous  wrong  by  this 


236  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

thoughtless  kindness  to  her  cousin  ?  "Was  she  right  in  try- 
ing to  atone  for  previous  neglect  by  an  excess  of  goodness 
which  might  be  cruel  to  him  in  after-life  ?  Her  companion 
saw  that  a  sudden  silence  and  pensiveness  had  fallen  over 
her,  and  he  drew  her  gently  away,  and  began  their  homeward 
walk. 

On  their  way  back,  they  again  went  down  to  the  Kelvin  ; 
and  he  proposed  that  they  should  rest  for  a  little  while  in 
the  bit  of  meadow  opposite  the  Pear-tree  Well.  They  sat 
down  amid  the  long  grass  ;  and  when  any  one  crossed  the 
small  wooden  bridge,  which  was  but  seldom,  Coquette  hid 
her  face  under  her  sunshade,  and  was  unseen. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Tired  ?  No.  I  do  walk  about  all  day  sometimes  at 
Airlie." 

"  Then  why  have  you  grown  so  silent  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  many  things — I  do  not  know." 

"  Coquette,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  do  you  know  that  the 
well  over  there  used  to  be  a  trysting  place  for  lovers  ;  and 
that  they  used  to  meet  there  and  join  their  hands  over 
the  well,  and  swear  that  they  would  marry  each  other  some 
day  ?  I  suppose  some  did  marry  and  some  didn't  ;  but 
wasn't  it  very  pleasant  in  the  meantime  to  look  forward  ? 
Coquette,  if  you  would  only  give  me  your  hand  now  !  I 
will  wait  any  time — I  have  waited  already,  Coquette  ;  but  if 
you  will  only  say  now  that  I  may  look  forward  to  some  day, 
far  away,  that  I  can  come  and  remind  you  of  your  promise — 
think  what  it  would  be  to  have  that  to  carry  about  with  one. 
You  will  be  going  back  to  Airlie,  Coquette — -I  may  not  see 
you  for  ever  so  long." 

He  paused  ;  for  she  seemed  strangely  disturbed.  She 
looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  which  were  wild  and  alarmed. 

"  Ah,  do  not  say  any  more,"  she  said.  "  I  will  do  any- 
thing for  you,  but  not  that — not  that." 

And  then  she  said,  a  moment  afterwards,  in  a  voice  which 
was  very  low  and  full  of  sadness — ■ 

"  Or  see  ;  I  will  promise  to  marry  you,  if  you  like,  after 
many,  many  years — only  not  now — not  within  a  few  years — 
afterwards  I  will  do  what  you  like." 


ALL  ABOUT  KELVIN-SIDE.  237 

"  But  have  I  offended  you  ?  Why  do  you  cry,  Coquette  ? 
Look  here,  I'd  cut  my  fingers  off  before  I  would  ask 
anything  of  you  that  pained  you.  What  is  the  matter, 
Coquette  ?     Does  it  grieve  you  to  think  of  what  I  ask  ?  " 

"  No — no  !  "  she  said,  hurriedly,  with  tears  stealing  down 
her  face.  "  It  is  right  of  you  to  ask  it — and  I — I  must 
say  yes.  My  uncle  does  expect  it,  does  he  not  ?  And  you 
yourself,  Tom,  you  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and  if  only 
this  will  make  you  happy,  I  will  be  your  wife." 

"  You  will  ?  "  said  he,  with  his  handsome  face  burning 
with  joy. 

"But — but — "  said  Coquette,  with  the  dark  eyes  still  Wfct, 
and  her  head  bent  down,  "not  until  after  many  years.  And 
all  that  time,  Tom,  I  shall  pray  that  you  may  get  a  better 
wife  than  I — and  a  wife  who  could  be  to  you  all  that  you 
deserve— and  in  this  long  time  you  may  meet  some  one, 
mid  your  heart  will  say,  'She  is  better  for  me  than 
Coquette ' " 

"  Better  than  you,  Coquette  !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  there  any- 
body in  all  the  world  better  than  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  think — you  do  not  remember.  You  do 
not  know  anything  of  me  yet — I  am  a  stranger  to  you — 
and  I  have  been  brought  up  differently  from  you.  And  did 
not  Leesiebess  say  I  had  come  to  do  mischief  among  you — 
and  that  my  French  bringing-up  was  dangerous  ? 

"  But  you  know,  Coquette,  that  your  goodness  even  turned 
the  heart  of  that  horrible  old  idiot  towards  you  ;  and  you 
must  not  say  another  word  against  yourself,  for  I  will  not 
believe  it.  And  if  you  only  knew  how  proud  and  happy  you 
have  made  me!"  he  added,  taking  her  hand  affectionately 
and  gratefully. 

"J  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  deserve  to  he  wry  happy.  But  it  is  a  great  many 
years  off,  and  in  that  time  I  will  tell  you  more  of  myself  than 
1  have  told  you  yet.  I  cannot  just  now,  my  poor  boy,  for 
your  eyes  are  so  full  of  gladness  ;  but  some  day  you  will 
believe  it  fortunate  for  you  if  you  can  many  someone  else— 
and  I  will  rejoice  at  that  too." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  with  some  good-natured  surprise  in  his 
voice,  'k  you  talk  as  if  there  was  some  one  you  wanted  to 
marry  ! " 


238  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

'  No,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  sigh,  "  there  is  no  one." 
"  And  now,  then,"  said  the  Whaup  gaily,  as  he  assisted 
her  to  rise,  "  I  call  upon  all  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  all 
the  drops  in  the  river,  and  all  the  light  in  the  air,  to  bear 
witness  that  I  have  won  Coquette  for  my  wife  ;  and  I  ask 
the  sky  always  to  have  sunshine  for  her  ;  and  I  ask  the  winds 
to  take  care  of  her  and  be  gentle  to  her ;  for  isn't  she  my 
Coquette  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  foolish  boy  ! "  she  said,  with  sad  and  tearful 
eyes.  "  You  have  given  me  a  dangerous  name.  But  no 
matter.  If  it  pleases  you  to-day  to  think  I  shall  be  your 
wife,  I  am  glad." 

Of  course,  in  lover's  fashion,  he  laughed  at  her  fears,  and 
strove  to  lend  her  a  leaven  of  his  own  high-hearted  confi- 
dence. And  in  tins  wise  they  returned  to  Glasgow,  as  lovers 
have  done  before  them,  as  lovers  will  do  after  them  again 
and  again,  so  long  as  youth  hungers  for  bright  eyes,  and 
laughs  to  scorn  all  the  perils  the  future  may  enfold.  And  if 
the  Whaup  thought  well  of  Glasgow  on  that  morning  when 
he  set  out,  you  may  guess  what  he  thought  of  the  city  as  he 
now  returned  to  it,  and  of  the  strange  transfiguration  under- 
gone by  the  distant  clouds  of  smoke,  and  the  tall  chimneys, 
and  the  long  and  monotonous  streets.  Romance  had  bathed 
the  old  grey  town  in  the  hues  of  the  sunset ;  and  for  him 
henceforth  Glasgow  was  no  longer  a  somewhat  commonplace 
and  matter-of-fact  mass  of  houses,  but  a  realm  of  mystery 
and  dreams  which  love  had  lit  up  with  the  coloured  lime- 
light of  wonder  and  hope. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY. 

So  Coquette  had  engaged  herself  to  marry  her  cousin. 
She  knew  not  why,  but  there  were  strange  forebodings 
crowding  her  mind  as  she  contemplated  that  as  yet  distant 
prospect.  It  seemed  to  her  that  life  would  be  a  pleasant  and 
enjoyable  thing,  if  all  the  people  around  her  were  satisfied 
to  leave  it  as  they  found  it,  and  to  continue  those  amicable 
relations  winch  were  quieter,  safer,  more  comfortable  than 
the  wild  and  strange  perplexities  which  appeared  to  follow 


LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY.  239 

in  the  train  of  love.  Love  had  become  a  fearful  thing  to 
her.  She  looked  forward  to  meeting  Lord  Earlsh ope  with 
something  like  alarm  ;  and  yet  his  absence  was  a  source  of 
vague  unrest  and  anxiety.  She  longed  to  see  him  ;  and  yet 
dreaded  a  repetition  of  those  bizarre  and  terrible  scenes 
which  had  marked  the  opening  days  of  their  intimacy.  And 
the  more  she  looked  at  her  own  position — the  longer  she 
dwelt  on  the  possibilities  that  lay  before  her  in  the  future — ■ 
the  less  could  she  unravel  the  toils  that  seemed  gathering 
around  her  and  binding  her  with  iron  chains. 

Was  this,  then,  the  happy  phase  of  life  into  which  she  had 
s<  en,  with  something  of  envy,  her  old  companions  and  play- 
mates enter  ?  Was  this  the  delight  of  being  in  love  ? 
Were  these  the  joyous  experiences  which  were  sung  in  many 
a  ballad,  and  described  in  many  a  merry  theatre-piece,  and 
dwelt  tenderly  upon  in  many  a  story  ? 

"I  am  eighteen,11  site  said  to  herself,  in  these  solitary 
musings.  "  It  is  the  time  for  young  people  to  be  in  love  ; 
and  yet  I  hate  it  and  fear  it  ;  and  I  wish  that  I  did  never 
come  to  this  country.    Alas  !  it  is  too  late  to  go  away  now." 

And  again  she  asked  herself  if  she  had  brought  those 
perils — now  looming  distinctly  in  the  future — upon  herself 
by  her  own  fault.  Wherein  had  she  erred  ?  Surely  not 
through  selfishness.  She  loved  Lord  Earlshope,  and  was 
content  to  be  loved  by  him,  without  even  dreaming  that  he 
was  thereby  hound  to  her  in  any  shape  whatever.    Indeed  she 

med  to  think  that  by  way  of  reparation  it  was  her  duty 
to  marry  her  cousin  ;  and  she  had  consented  only  because  she 
thought  she  would  make  him  happy.  In  neither  direction 
whs  there  the  hast  regard  for  herself,  but  only  a  desire  to 
please  her  friends  all  round  ;  and  yet  it  appeared  as  if  those 
very  efforts  of  hers  were  doomed  to  plunge  her  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  sea  of  troubles  in  which  she  found  herself 
sinking.  Was  there  no  hand  to  save  her  ?  She  knew  not 
how  it  had  all  come  about;  but  she  did  know  that,  in  the 
old  moments  in  which  a  consciousness  of  her  situation 
tlashed  upon  her,  a  vague  terror  took  possession  of  her,  and 
Bhe  looked  forward  with  dismay  to  the  coming  years. 

These  moments,  fortunately,  occurred  at  considerable 
intervals.  The  temperament  of  the  girl  was  naturally  light 
and  cheerful.     She  was  glad  to  enjoy  the  quiet  pleasures  of 


240  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

everyday  life,  and  forget  those  gloomy  anxieties  which  lay 
in  the  future.  And  this  visit  to  Glasgow  was  full  of  all 
manner  of  new  experiences,  delights,  excitements,  which 
drove  her  forebodings  out  of  her  head,  and  led  the 
Whaup  to  believe  that  she  was  proud  to  have  become  his 
affianced  wife.  Why  had  she  cried,  he  asked  himself,  when 
he  urged  his  suit  in  that  bit  of  meadow  on  the  banks  of  the 
Kelvin  ?  It  did  not  matter.  The  Whaup  was  not  him- 
self inclined  to  morbid  speculation.  Doubtless,  girls  were 
strange  creatures.  They  cried  when  they  were  most  pleased. 
They  turned  pale,  or  fainted,  or  achieved  some  other  extra- 
ordinary feat,  on  the  smallest  emotional  provocation.  It 
was  enough  for  him  to  hear  Coquette's  merry  laugh  to  con- 
vince him  that  she  was  not  very  sorry  for  what  she  had 
done ;  and  everybody,  from  Lady  Drum  downwards,  bore 
testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  visit  to  Glasgow  had  wonder- 
fully improved  the  girl's  health  and  spirits.  You  had  only 
to  look  at  the  new  and  faint  colour  in  her  pale  cheeks,  and 
at  the  glad  brightness  of  her  eyes. 

Then  there  was  the  grand  dinner  coming  off,  which  was 
to  introduce  Coquette  to  Lady  Drum's  Glasgow  friends. 
The  Whaup,  of  course,  was  invited  ;  and,  as  there  never  had 
been  occasion  for  his  wearing  evening  dress  down  in  Airlie, 
his  slender  store  of  money  was  deeply  dipped  into  by  his 
preparations.  But  when  his  name  was  announced,  and 
he  walked  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Lady  Drum  was 
receiving  her  guests,  the  appearance  of  the  tall  and  hand- 
some young  man  attracted  a  good  many  eyes  ;  and  Coquette 
— who  had  gone  quickly  forward  to  meet  him — was  quite 
overcome  by  wonder  and  delight  over  his  transformation 
from  a  raw  country  lad  into  an  elegant  young  gentleman, 
and  could  not  refrain  from  saying  as  much  to  him  in  a 
whisper.  The  Whaup — who  had  looked  round  for  her  on 
his  entrance  into  the  room — laughed,  and  blushed  a  little, 
and  then  drew  her  away  into  a  corner,  and  said — 

"  It  is  all  the  white  tie,  Coquette,  isn't  it  ?  Don't  you 
think  I've  managed  it  well  ?  But  I  am  awfully  afraid  that 
a  sneeze  would  send  everything  flying,  and  fill  the  air  with 
bits  of  cambric.  And  it  was  very  good  of  you,  Coquette,  to 
send  me  those  studs — don't  they  look  pretty  ? — and  I'll 
kiss  you  for  sending  me  them  whenever  I  get  the  chance." 


LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY.  241 

"With  which  Coquette  drew  herself  up,  and  said — 

"  You  do  talk  of  kissing  me  as  if  it  were  every  day.  Yet  you 
hive  not  kissed  me,  nor  are  likely  to  do  that,  until  you  are  a 
great  deal  better-behaved,  and  less  vain  of  yourself.  You  do 
talk  of  not  being  able  to  sneeze,  merely  that  I  look  at  the 
negligent  way  you  have  made  your  necktie  and  your  collar 
— to  open  your  throat,  you  foolish  boy,  and  give  yourself  a 
cold." 

At  this  moment  Sir  Peter  bustled  up  to  get  hold  of 
Coquette,  and  introduce  to  her  certain  civic  dignitaries  ;  and 
the  Whaup,  with  some  chagrin,  saw  her  disappear  in  a 
crowd  of  people.  He  himself  was  speedily  recalled  to  his 
duty,  for  the  remainder  of  the  guests  were  arriving  rapidly, 
and  among  them  were  some  whom  he  knew.  He  soon  found 
himself  being  teased  by  the  daughters  of  his  friend,  Dr. 
Mtiizic'S — three  tall,  light-haired,  merry-hearted  girls — who 
rathet  made  a  pet  of  him.  And  all  at  once  one  of  them 
siid  to  Mm — 

"Why,  is  that  your  cousin  there — the  girl  in  white,  with 
the  heap  of  tea-roses?  It  is?  How  handsome  she  is; 
and  how  well  she  knows  the  proper  sort  of  flower  for  her 
dark  hair  !     Did  you  say  she  was  an  Italian  ?  " 

No  a  Mongolian,"  said  the  Whaup  emphatically;  for 
lie  did  not  like  to  have  Coquette  spoken  of  by  anybody  in 
that  cool  and  critical  fashion. 

"  Does  she  sing  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  he  said,  curtly. 

At  this  very  moment  Coquette  came  towards  him  ;  and 
then—seeing  that  he  was  talking  to  three  young  ladies — 
suddenly  turned,  and  looked  for  Sir  Peter,  whom  she  had  just 
left.     The  Whaup  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment. 

"  "What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said. 

M  Nothing,"  she  said,  coldly. 

"  You  know  you  were  coining  to  speak  to  me." 

"  But  I  did  find  you  engaged,"  she  said,  with  a  slight 
touch   of   hauttwr   in   her  tone.     "Who  are  these  young 
ladies  ?     Are  they  your  friends  whose  father  is  the  doct 
Why  do  you  leave  them  ?  " 

"  Coquette,  if  you  are  unreasonable  I  will  go  away  and 
not  return  the  whole  evening.  What  did  you  come  to  tell 
me  ?  " 


242  •      A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  did  come  to  say,"  replied  Coquette,  speaking  with  a 
studied  and  calm  carelessness,  "  that  Lady  Drum  has  asked 
Bailie  Maclaren  (I  do  think  that  is  the  name)  to  take  me  in 
to  dinner,  and  I  do  not  like  it,  for  I  would  rather  have  sat  by 
you,  bat  it  is  of  no  consequence  since  you  are  occupied  with 
your  friends." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  the  Whaup  confidently  ;  •"  Lady  Drum 
asked  me  to  take  in  that  old  woman  with  the  feathers,  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  ;  but  don't  you  imagine  I  am  such  a  fool,  Coquette 
--oh,  no  ! " 

"  What  will  you  do  ? "  said  Coquette,  with  her  face 
brightening  up. 

The  Whaup  said  nothing  for  a  second  or  two,  but  just  then, 
a  motion  towards  pairing  having  taken  place,  he  darted  up  to 
Bailie  Maclaren — a  venerable  person  in  spectacles,  who  was 
looking  out  for  his  appointed  partner — and  said  in  a  hurried 
whisper — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  Lady  Drum  bids  me  tell  you 
she  would  be  much  obliged  if  you  would  kindly  take  in  Mrs. 
Colquhoun — the  old  lady  near  the  piano — do  you  see  her  ? " 

The  Whaup  did  not  wait  for  any  reply  from  the  be- 
wildered old  gentleman,  but  instantly  returned  to  Coquette, 
caught  her  hand,  placed  it  on  his  arm,  and  hurried  her  into 
the  dining-room  in  defiance  of  all  order  and  the  laws  of  pre- 
cedence. Not  for  some  time  did  Lady  Drum  notice  what 
had  occurred.  It  was  not  until  the  soup  had  been  served 
that  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Coquette  and  the  Whaup 
sitting  comfortably  together  at  a  portion  of  the  table  where 
neither  ought  to  have  been  ;  and  the  face  of  the  young  lady, 
who  wore  tea-rosebuds  twisted  in  the  loose  masses  of  her  dark 
hair,  was  particularly  bright  and  happy  ;  for  her  companion 
was  telling  her  wonderful  stories  of  his  college  life — lies, 
doubtless,  for  the  most  part,  or  nearly  approaching  there- 
unto. 

"  It  was  rather  shabby  of  you,  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  to 
run  away  like  that  when  I  wanted  to  introduce  you  to  Dr. 
Menzies'  girls." 

"  I  was  introduced  to  too  many  people — I  cannot  remem- 
ber all  such  names.  Besides,  I  do  not  like  girls  with  straw- 
coloured  hair." 

"  Oh,  for  shame,  Coquette !     You  know  it  isn't  straw- 


LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY.  243 

colour  but  golden,  and  very  pretty.  Well,  I  would  have 
introduced  you  to  those  two  young  ladies  who  sit  near 
Sir  Peter,  and  who  have  hair  as  dark  and  as  handsome  as 
your  own." 

"  Who  are  they  ? "  said  Coquette  submissively  ;  for  she 
was  hound  to  be  consistent. 

"  They  live  m  Regent's  Park  Terrace,"  said  the  Whaup — 
which  did  not  afford  his  companion  much  information — 
"and  they  have  the  most  beautiful  contralto  voices.  You 
should  hear  the  younger  one  sing  the  '  Ash  Grove.'  " 

"  I  do  think  you  know  too  many  young  ladies,"  said 
Coquette,  with  a  pout, — which  was  so  obviously  assumed, 
that  he  laughed  at  her ;  and  then  she  was  offended  ;  and 
then  he  had  humbly  to  apologise  ;  and  then  they  were 
friends  again. 

So  the  dinner  went  on,  and  these  two  young  people  were 
vi tv  happy  ;  for  it  was  the  first  time  that  the  Whaup  had 
appeared  in  society  along  with  Coquette,  and  he  felt  a  right 
of  property  in  her,  and  was  proud  of  her.  She  had  given 
him  to  understand  that  their  marriage  was  a  thing  so 
distant  and  vague  that  it  was  scarcely  to  be  thought  of  as 
yet ;  but  in  the  meantime  he  regarded  her  as  virtually  his 
wife,  and  no  longer  considered  himself  a  solitary  unit  lost  in 
this  crowd  of  married  people.  He  was  very  attentive  to 
Coquette.  He  was  particular  as  to  the  dainties  which  she 
ate  ;  he  assumed  authority  over  her  in  the  matter  of  wine. 
Why,  it  was  as  if  they  were  children  playing  at  being 
husband  and  wife — in  a  fantastic  grotto  of  their  own 
creation  ;  while  the  serious  interests  of  the  world  were 
.allowed  to  pass  outside  unheeded,  and  they  cared  not  to 
think  of  any  future,  so  busy  were  they  in  wreathing 
flowers. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  if  you  arc  good,  I  will  sing  you  a 
song  when  we  go  into  the  drawing-room." 

"  I  do  know,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  least  trace  of  con- 
tempt. "  It  is  always  '  Come  lasses  and  lads — Come  lasses 
and  lads' — that  is  your  song  always.  Now,  if  you  did  sing 
some  proper  song,  I  would  play  an  accompaniment  for  you. 
Bat  perhaps  some  of  your  young  lady  friends  down  there — 
can  they  play  the  accompaniment  for  you  ?  " 

."Oh,  yes,     said  the  Whaup  lightly.     "But,  of  course, 

R  2 


244  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

none  of  them  can  play  or  sing  like  you,  you  know.  Now  if 
you  only  saw  yourself  at  this  moment,  Coquette — how  your 
white  dress,  and  the  glare  from  the  table,  and  the  strong 
lights,  make  your  hair  and  your  eyes  look  so  dark  as  to  be 
almost  wild — and  those  pretty  yellow  rosebuds " 

"Have  I  not  told  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  some 
asperity,  "  that  it  is  very,  very  bad  manners  to  mention 
one's  appearance  or  dress  ?  I  did  tell  you  often — you 
must  not  do  it ;  and  if  people  do  hear  you  call  me  Coquette, 
what  will  they  say  of  me  ? 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Whaup,  mockingly  ;  "  let  us  have  all 
the  lecture  at  once  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Coquette,  more  sadly  than  she  had  as  yet 
spoken,  "  there  is  another  thing  I  would  say — and  yet  of 
what  use  ?  I  would  wish  you  to  give  up  thinking  me  so 
good  and  so  perfect.  Why  do  you  think  I  can  play,  or 
sing,  or  talk  to  you  better  than  any  one  else  ?  It  is  not 
true — it  is  a  great  misfortune  that  you  think  it  true.  And 
if  it  was  anybody  but  you,  I  would  say  it  was  compliments 
only — it  was  flattery  ;  but  I  do  see  in  your  eyes  what  you 
think,  although  you  may  not  say  it.  Do  you  know  that 
you  deceive  yourself  about  me — and  that  it  is  a  pain  to 
me  ?  If  I  could  give  you  my  eyes  for  a  moment,  I  would 
take  you  round  the  table,  and  show  you  who  is  much 
prettier  than  I  am — who  does  sing  better — who  has  more 
knowledge — more  sense — more  nobleness.  Alas  !  you  can 
see  nobody  but  me  ;  and  it  is  a  misfortune." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Coquette  ? "  he  said,  with 
vague  alarm.  "  Why  do  you  want  me  to  look  at  people 
with  different  eyes  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  very  distinctly, 
"  you  do  risk  all  your  happiness  on  a  future  so  uncertain. 
When  I  look  forward  to  a  few  years,  I  am  afraid — not  for 
myself,  but  for  you.  If  I  could  give  you  my  eyes,  1  would 
lead  you  to  some  one  of  your  friends  and  bid  you  admire 
her,  and  teach  you  What  a  charming  character  she  has,  and 
ask  you  to  pledge  her  to  go  with  you  all  through  the  time 
that  is  to  come.  As  for  me — I  am  not  sure  of  myself. 
Why  did  they  call  me  Coquette  ?  When  I  do  think  of  all 
that  you  risk  in  giving  your  happiness  to  me  to  keep  for  a 
great  many  years — I — I — I  despair  !  " 


LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY.  245 

But  the  Whaup  was  not  to  be  cast  down  by  these  idle 
forebodings. 

"  Why,  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  you  are  become  as  morbid 
as  Lord  Earlshope,  and  you  talk  nonsense  besides,  which  he 
never  does.  You  want  me  to  believe  that  anybody  else,  in 
this  room  or  any  other  room,  is  to  be  compared  with  you. 
That  is  not  giving  me  new  eyes — it  is  blinding  me  with  a 
pair  of  spectacles.  And  I  won't  have  your  eyes,  Coquette — 
pretty  as  they  are — but  yourself,  eyes  included.  Why, 
what  a  small  idiot  you  must  be  to  imagine  that  the  world 
holds  more  than  one  Coquette  !  " 

His  companion  smiled — perhaps  rather  sadly. 

"  It  is  a  great  change  from  your  first  belief  of  me — when 
you  did  think  me  dangerous  and  wicked.  But  perhaps  they 
do  still  think  that  of  me  in  Airlie.  What  would  Leesiebess's 
husband  answer  to  those  pretty  things  you  say  of  me — and 
are  you  so  sure  that  all  the  people  there  are  wrong,  and  you 
are  right  ?  " 

Sure  that  Coquette  was  not  a  wicked  and  dangerous 
person  ? — the  Whaup  had  not  a  word  to  say. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  ROSEBUD. 

When  the  ladies  had  gone  from  the  room,  and  the  men 
had  settled  down  to  port-wine  and  after-dinner  talk,  the 
Whaup  sat  by  himself,  silent  and  gloomy.  A  glass  of  claret 
remained  on  the  table  before  him  untasted.  He  stared  at 
it  as  if  it  were  some  distant  object ;  and  the  hum  of  the 
voices  around  him  sounded  like  the  murmur  of  the  wind,  as 
he  had  listened  to  it  at  night  up  on  Airlie  moor. 

What  did  Coquette  mean  ?  Why  did  she  put  away  into 
the  future,  as  if  it  were  something  to  be  dreaded,  the  happy 
time  which  ought  to  have  been  welcomed  by  a  young  girl  ? 
As  the  Whaup  puzzled  over  these  things,  he  asked  himself 
what  hindered  his  going  to  her  now,  in  the  royal  fashion  of 
Lochinvar,  and  marrying  her  out-of-hand  before  she  had 
time  to  say  no  ? 

Alas !     Lochinvar  belonged  to  the   upper  classes.     He 


246  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

could  support  the  bride  whom  he  stole  away  in  that 
romantic  manner  ;  and  his  merry  black  eye,  in  bewitching 
the  girl,  and  making  her  ready  to  ride  with  him  over  the 
Border,  was  not  troubled  by  any  consideration  as  to  how 
the  two  should  be  able  to  live;  The  Whaup  looked  up  the 
table.  There  were  rich  men  there.  There  were  men  there 
who  could  confidently  place  fabulous  figures  on  cheques  ; 
and  yet  they  did  not  seem  to  know  what  a  magic  power 
they  possessed.  They  only  talked  feeble  platitudes  about 
foreign  affairs ;  and  paid  further  attention  to  that  god 
which,  enshrined  in  the  capacious  temple  underneath  their 
waistbelt,  they  had  worshipped  for  many  years.  Had  they 
ever  been  young  ?  the  Whaup  asked  himself.  Had  they 
known  some  fair  creature  who  resembled,  in  some  inferior 
fashion,  Coquette  ?  Was  there  at  that  remote  period 
anybody  in  the  world,  in  the  likeness  of  Coquette,  on  whom 
their  wealth  could  shower  little  delicate  attentions  ?  Had 
they  been  able  to  marry  when  they  chose  ?  Or  were  they 
poor  in  their  youth — when  alone  money  is  of  value  to  any 
one — only  to  become  rich  in  their  old  age,  and  think  witli 
a  sigh  of  the  Coquette  of  long  ago,  and  console  themselves 
with  much  feeding  and  the  imposing  prominence  of  a  portly 
stomach  ? 

Dr.  Menzies,  it  is  true,  had  vaguely  promised  that,  when 
his  studies  were  completed,  the  Whaup  should  become  hi  5 
assistant,  or  even  his  junior  partner.  But  how  far  away 
seemed  that  dim  prospect !  And  why  should  Coquette— a 
princess  on  whom  all  the  world  ought  to  have  been  proud 
to  wait — be  bound  down  by  such  ignominious  conditions 
and  chances  ?  The  Whaup  plunged  his  hands  deep  into 
his  empty  pockets,  and  stared  all  the  more  moodily  at  his 
glass. 

Then  suddenly  there  was  a  sound  of  a  piano — a  bright, 
sharp  prelude  which  he  seemed  to  know.  Presently,  too, 
he  heard  as  through  muffled  curtains  the  distant  voice  of 
Coquette ;  and  what  was  this  she  was  singing  ?  Why, 
that  brisk  old  ballad  of  his  own  that  she  had  heard  him 
sing  in  his  lodgings.  Where  had  she  got  it  ?  How  had 
she  learnt  it  ?  The  Whaup  started  to  his  feet — all  the 
gloom  gone  from  his  face.  He  stole  out  of  the  room — in 
the  hubbub  of  vinous  political  fervour  he  was  scarcely. 


THE  ROSEBUD.  247 

noticed — and  made  his  way  to  the  drawing-room  door. 
This  was  what  he  heard — ■ 

Come  lasses  and  lads,  get  leave  of  your  dads, 

And  away  to  the  maypole  hie, 
For  every  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 
And  the  fiddlers  standing  by  ! 

For  Willy  shall  dance  with  Jane, 
Aud  Johnny  has  got  his  Joan, 
To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  &c. 

Coquette,  then,  was  in  no  melancholy  mood  ?  Why, 
what  an  ass  he  had  been,  to  grow  dismal  when  there  still 
remained  to  him  the  proud  possession  of  that  promise  of 
hers  !  That  was  his  own  song  she  was  singing  brightly 
and  merrily,  and  with  strange  oddities  of  pronunciation. 
She  herself  belonged  to  him  in  a  manner — and  who  was 
there  that  would  not  envy  him  ?  When  the  song  was 
finished,  the  AVhaup  went  into  the  room,  walked  up  to 
the  piano,  sat  down  by  Coquette,  and  told  her  that  he 
knew  nobody  among  the  men,  and  had  been  forced  to  come 
in  there. 

"  And  where  did  you  get  that  song,  Coquette  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Monsieur  !  "  observed  Coquette,  "  you  do  talk  as  if  yon 
had  the  right  to  be  here — which  you  have  not.  Do  you 
not  see  that  your  friends,  the  doctor's  young  ladies,  did 
laugh  when  you  came  in  and  walked  over  to  me  !  " 

"  Where  should  I  go,  Coquette  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  as  she 
pretended  to  turn  over  the  music.  "When  at  the  dinner,  I 
did  see  the  youngest  of  the  three  young  ladies  look  much  at 
you.  I  have  spoken  to  her  since  we  came  here.  She  is 
charming — and  oh !  very  good,  and  speaks  kindly  of  you, 
and  with  a  little  blush,  which  is  very  pretty  on  your  Scotch 
young  ladies.  And  when  I  asked  her  if  she  knows  this 
smijj;,  she  did  laugh  and  blush  a  little  again — you  have  been 
tinging  it  to  her " 

"  Oh,  Coquette  !  "  he  said.  "What  a  sly  mouse  you  are — for 
all  your  innocent  eyes — to  be  watching  everybody  like  that." 

"  But  now  you  go  to  her,  and  sit  down  there,  and  make 
yourself  very  agreeable.  You  do  not  know  how  much  she 
is  a  friend  of  yours." 

The  AVhaup  began  to  lose  his  temper. 


248  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETII. 

"  I  won't  be  goaded  into  speaking  to  anybody,"  said  he  ; 
"  and  the  first  thing  you  have  to  do,  Miss  Coquette, 
to-morrow  morning,  is  to  come  to  a  distinct  understanding 
about  all  the  nonsense  you  have  been  talking  at  dinner. 
What  is  it  all  about,  Coquette  ?  Are  you  proud  ?  Then 
I  will  coax  you  and  flatter  you.  Are  you  frightened  ? 
Then  I  will  laugh  at  you.  Are  you  unreasonable  ?  Then 
— then,  by  Jingo,  I'll  run  away  with  you  !  " 

Coquette  laughed  lightly  ;  and  the  Whaup  became  aware 
that  several  pairs  of  eyes  had  been  drawn  towards  them. 

"  This  place  is  getting  too  hot  for  me,"  he  said.  "  Must 
I  really  go  back  ?  " 

"No,"  she  said;  "you  will  stop  and  sing — something 
bright,  joyful,  happy — and  you  will  forget  the  melancholy 
things  we  have  been  talking  about.  Have  I  been  unkind 
to  you  ?  You  will  see  I  will  make  it  up,  and  you  shall  not 
sit  gloomy  again  at  dinner.  Besides,  it  does  not  improve 
your  good  looks  :  you  should  be  more  of  the  wild  boy  that 
I  saw  when  I  did  first  come  to  Airlie." 

"I  wish  we  were  both  back  at  Airlie,  in  those  old 
times  !  "  said  the  Whaup. 

Coquette  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  She  had 
caught  quite  a  new  tone  of  sadness  in  his  voice,  and  his 
eyes  had  grown  absent  and  clouded. 

So  he,  too,  was  striving  to  pierce  that  unknown  future, 
and  seemed  bewildered  by  its  vagueness  and  its  gloom  ? 
The  seriousness  of  life  appeared  to  have  told  on  him 
strangely  since  he  left  the  quiet  moorland  village.  What 
had  wrought  the  change  within  the  brief  space  of  time 
that  had  elapsed  since  her  arrival  from  France  ?  Was  she 
the  cause  of  it  all  ? — she,  who  was  willing  to  sacrifice  her 
own  life  without  a  murmur  for  the  happiness  of  those 
whom  she  loved  ?  Already,  the  first  months  of  her  stay  at 
Airlie — despite  the  petty  persecutions  and  little  trials  she 
had  to  endure — had  become  an  idyllic  period  towards  which 
she  looked  back  with  eyes  filled  with  infinite  longing. 

All  that  evening  she  was  the  prominent  figure  in  Lady 
Drum's  drawing-room.  When  the  men  came  in  from  their 
port  wine  and  politics,  they  found  that  Coquette  had 
established  herself  as  a  sort  of  princess,  and  they  only 
swelled  the  number  of  those  who  formed  her  court,    But 


THE  ROSEBUD.  249 

upon  two,  only,  of  those  present  did  she  bestow  a  marked 
favour  ;  and  these  were  the  Whaup  and  the  youngest  of 
Dr.  Me^ies'  daughters.  She  so  managed  that  the  three  of 
them  were  generally  close  together,  engaged  in  all  manner 
of  private  confabulation.  The  fair-haired  young  girl  had 
approached  with  a  certain  diffidence  and  awe  this  queenly 
small  woman,  whom  everybody  seemed  to  be  talking  about ; 
but  Coquette  had  only  to  smile,  and  begin  to  speak  a 
little  in  her  foreign  way,  in  order  to  win  over  the  soft- 
hearted young  Scotch  girl.  These  three  appeared,  indeed, 
to  form  a  group  in  the  nebulous  crowd  of  people  who 
cluitted,  or  drank  tea,  or  listened  to  the  music  ;  and  before 
the  evening  was  over  Coquette  had  conveyed  to  Miss  Menzies 
— by  that  species  of  esoteric  telegraphy  known  to  women — 
a  series  of  impressions  which  certainly  neither  had  remotely 
mentioned. 

"  Coquette,"  said  the  Whaup,  when  all  the  people  had 
gone  but  himself,  and  as  he  was  bidding  her  good-night, 
M  why  did  you  try  to  make  Mary  Menzies  believe  that  she 
and  I  were  much  greater  companions,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  than  you  and  I  ?  You  always  talked  as  if  you  were 
the  third  person  talking  to  us  two." 

"It  is  too  late  for  questions,"  said  Coquette,  with  a 
mingled  air  of  sauciness  and  gentleness.  "  You  must  go 
iiway  now,  and  do  not  forget  you  go  with  me  to  the 
theatre  to-morrow  evening — and  if  you  do  send  me  some 
ilowers  I  will  put  them  in  my  hair." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  one  just  now,"  he  said, 
rather  shyly. 

She  took  a  pale-tinted  tea-rose  out  of  her  bosom 
and  kissed  it  lightly  (for  Sir  Peter  was  just  then  coming 
along  the  hall),  and  gave  it  him.  The  rose  was  a  great 
consolation  to  the  Whaup  on  his  homeward  way.  And 
were  not  the  constant  stars  overhead — shining  so  calmly, 
and  clearly,  and  happily,  that  they  seemed  to  rebuke  his 
anxious  forebodings  ? 

"  She  is  as  pure  as  a  star,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and  as 
beautiful — and  as  far  away.  The  years  she  talks  of  seem 
to  stretch  on  and  on  ;  and  I  cannot  see  the  end  of  them. 
The  stars  up  there  are  far  nearer  to  me  than  Coquette  is." 

Yet  he  held  the  rose  in  his  hand,  and  she  had  kissed  it. 


25o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE   WHAUP  BECOMES  ANXIOUS. 

Coquette's  stay  in  Glasgow  did  not  promise  well  for 
the  Whaup's  studies.  On  the  very  morning  after  she  had 
given  him  a  rose  to  cheer  him  on  his  homeward  walk, 
he  was  again  up  at  Lady  Drum's  house.  He  looked  very 
blank,  however,  on  being  shown  into  a  room,  to  find  that 
venerable  lady  the  sole  occupant ;  and  he  saw  by  the  shrewd 
and  good-natured  smile  on  her  face  that  she  perceived  his 
disappointment. 

"  Yes,  she  is  out,"  said  Lady  Drum.  "  Is  that  the 
question  ye  would  ask  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Could  ye  expect  her  to  bide  in  the  house  on  a  morning 
like  this  ?  If  there  is  a  glint  o'  sunshine  to  be  seen 
anywhere  she  is  off  and  out  like  a  butterfly  before  we  have 
breakfast  over." 

"  Young  ladies  ought  not  to  go  out  alone  like  that,"  said 
the  Whaup,  who  had  suddenly  acquired  serious  and  even 
gloomy  notions  of  propriety. 

His  elderly  friend  took  him  to  the  window.  Before 
them  lay  the  long  terraces  of  the  Park,  the  deep  valley,  the 
trees,  the  river,  and  the  opposite  heights,  all  dully  radiant 
in  a  pallid  and  smoky  sunshine.  And  on  the  terrace 
underneath  the  window  there  was  a  bench  ;  and  on  the 
bench  sat,  all  by  herself,  a  young  person,  whose  downcast 
face,  bent  over  a  book,  was  hidden  underneath  a  white 
sunshade  ;  and  there  was  nothing  at  all  by  which  to 
distinguish  the  stranger  but  her  faintly  yellow  morning 
dress,  that  shone  palely  in  the  sun.  Yet  you  should  have 
seen  how  swiftly  the  Whaup's  face  cleared.  In  about 
thirty  seconds  he  had  taken  an  unceremonious  farewell  of 
Lady  Drum,  and  hastened  down  into  the  Park. 

"  You  must  not  come  to  see  me  every  day,"  said 
Coquette  ;  "  you  do  give  up  all  your  work." 

"  But  look  here,  Coquette,"  he  remarked,  gravely,  "  isn't 
it  the  proper  thing  to  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony  after  a 
dinner-party  ?  " 


THE  WHAUP  BECOMES  ANXIOUS.  251 

"  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  smile  ; 
"  four  o'clock  is  the  time  for  such  calls,  aud  it  is  not  to 
me  you  pay  them." 

He  made  no  reply  ;  but  he  drew  away  the  book  from  her 
lap,  and  quietly  shut  it  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he 
said — 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  stroll  through  the  Botanic 
Gardens." 

So  she  surrendered  herself — her  only  protest  being  a 
well-simulated  sigh,  at  which  he  laughed — and  away  they 
went.  Glasgow  College,  and  all  its  class  rooms,  might 
have  been  in  the  Philippine  Islands  for  anything  that  the 
Whaup  remembered  of  them. 

Many  and  many  a  time  during  this  long  and  devious 
saunter,  which  took  them  a  good  deal  farther  than  the 
Botanic  Gardens,  the  Whaup — yielding  to  that  strange 
dissatisfaction  with  their  present  happiness  which  distin- 
guishes lovers  and  fills  the  most  beatific  period  of  human  life 
with  trouble— would  drag  back  their  rambling  talk  to  the 
reasons  Coquette  had  for  being  apprehensive  of  the  future. 
Why  was  she  disinclined  to  speak  of  a  possible  limit  to  the 
Dumber  of  years  he  had  yet  to  wait  ?  Why  did  she  almost 
pathetically  counsel  him  to  fix  his  affections  on  some  one 
else  ? 

Coquette  replied  gravely,  and  sometimes  a  little  sadly,  to 
these  questions  ;  but  she  had  not  the  courage  to  reveal  to 
him  the  whole  truth.     There  was  something  so  touching  in 

o  o 

the  very  trust  that  he  reposed  in  her — in  the  frank  and 
generous  way  that  he  appealed  to  her,  and  took  it  for 
granted  that  she  would  become  his  wife — that,  in  the 
meantime,  she  dared  not  tell  him  that  her  heart  still 
wandered  away  to  another  man.  He  did  not  know  that 
his  protestations  of  love  sounded  coldly  in  her  cars ;  and 
only  suggested  what  they  would  have  been  had  they  been 
uttered  by  another.  He  thought  it  strange  that  she  was 
glad  to  avoid  those  little  confessions  and  wondering  hopes 
which  are  the  common  talk  of  lovers  ;  and  would  far 
rather  have  him  speak  to  her  about  his  professional  future, 
or  even  the  details  of  his  college  life. 

For  herself,  she  seemed  to  think  it  enough  if  her  cousin 
were  pleased  to  walk  with  her  ;  and  some  day,  she  doubted 


252  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

not,  she  would  yield  to  his  urgent  wishes  and  become  his 
wife.  By  that  time,  was  it  not  likely  that  the  strange 
unrest  in  her  heart,  that  vague  longing  for  the  presence  of 
one  whose  name  she  scarcely  ever  mentioned,  would  have 
died  utterly  away  ?  And  in  the  remote  possibility  of  her 
giving  herself  to  her  cousin,  was  it  not  her  duty  now  to  try 
to  eradicate  that  hapless  love  which  had  far  more  of  pain 
than  of  pleasure  in  it  ?  While  the  Whaup  was  eagerly 
sketching  out  the  life  which  he  and  she  should  live 
together,  Coquette  was  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  never 
again  to  see  Lord  Earlshope. 

But  it  was  a  hard  trial.  A  woman  may  marry  this  man 
or  that  man — her  affections  may  shift  and  alter — but  she 
never  forgets  the  man  she  loved  with  all  the  wonder,  and 
idealism,  and  devotion  of  a  girl's  early  love.  Coquette 
asked  herself  whether  she  could  ever  forget r  Airlie,  and 
the  stolen  interviews  of  those  spring  mornings,  and  the 
pathetic  farewells  that  the  sea,  and  the  sky,  and  the 
shining  landscape  alone  knew. 

"  Dreaming  again,"  said  the  Whaup,  gently.  "  I  suppose 
you  don't  know  that  that  is  a  river  you  are  looking  at  ?  " 

They  were  standing  on  the  small  wooden  bridge  that 
crosses  the  Kelvin ;  and  she  was  gazing  into  the  water  as 
if  it  were  a  mirror  on  which  all  the  future  years  were 
reflected. 

"  Does  this  river  go  to  the  sea  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Most  rivers  do,"  replied  the  Whaup — proud,  like  a 
man,  of  his  superior  scientific  knowledge. 

"  And  perhaps  in  a  day  or  two  it  will  see  Arran." 

"  Why,  you  speak  as  if  you  were  already  anxious  to  leave 
Glasgow  and  go  back,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  What  amuse- 
ment can  there  be  for  you  there  ?  My  father  is  buried 
in  that  Concordance.  Lady  Drum  is  here.  Earlshope  is 
deserted — by  the  way,  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Lord 
Earlshope." 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Coquette,  hastily  ;  and  she  took  her 
arm  off  the  wooden  parapet  of  the  bridge,  and  went  on. 
The  Whaup  did  not  perceive  that  his  mention  of  Lord 
Earlshope's  name  had  struck  a  jarring  note. 

So  they  walked  leisurely  in  to  Glasgow  again  ;  and  all 
the  way  Coquette  skilfully  avoided  conversation  about  the 


THE  WHAUP  BECOMES  ANXIOUS,  253 

m&tters  which  were  naturally  uppermost  in  her  companion's 
mind.  Indeed,  a  discovery  which  she  made  greatly  helped 
her  out  of  the  dilemma,  and  enlivened  the  remainder  of 
their  ramble.  She  inadvertently  slipped  into  French  in 
making  some  remark  ;  and  the  Whaup  quickly  replied  to 
her  in  the  same  tongue.  She  was  surprised  and  delighted 
beyond  measure.  She  had  no  idea  of  his  having  studied 
hard  since  he  left  Airlie  to  extend  the  small  acquaintance 
with  the  language  which  he  had  picked  up  as  a  boy.  She 
saw  well  what  had  urged  him  to  do  so  ;  and  she  was  pleased 
by  this  occult  compliment.  She  insisted  on  their  talking 
nothing  but  French  all  the  way  home  ;  and  the  Whaup 
— with  occasional  stammering,  laughing,  and  blushing — ■ 
managed  to  sustain  the  conversation  with  tolerable  ease 
and  fluency.  Sin;  corrected  his  idioms — very  gently,  it  is 
t -rue  5  and  also  hinted  that  he  might,  if  he  liked,  adopt  the 
familiar  tutoiement  which  ought  to  exist  between  cousins. 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  My  conversation 
books  have  taught  me  to  say  voi/s ;  and  so,  until  I  learn, 
you  must  call  me  fit,  and  I  will  call  you  anything  that 
comes  uppermost." 

This,  and  all  that  followed,  was  spoken  in  rough-and- 
ready  French,  the  grammar  of  which  was  a  good  deal 
better  than  its  pronunciation  ;  and  the  care  which  the 
Whaup  had  to  bestow  on  his  language  lent  an  unromantic 
ami  matter-of-fact  character  to  the  subjects  of  their  talk, 
to  Coquette's  great  relief. 

When  they  had  reached  the  house  she  said — 

"  You  must  come  in  and  make  an  apology  to  Lady  Drum 
for  your  inattention.  Then  you  will  have  a  little  lunch. 
Then  you  will  go  home  and  attend  to  your  studies  until  the 
evening.  Then  you  will  come  here  and  go  with  us  to  the 
theatre  ;  and  you  may  bring  a  bouquet  for  Lady  Drum,  if 
you  choose." 

"  Any  more  commands,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said.  "  What, 
nothing  more  ?  How  many  lines  of  Greek  must  I  do  if  I 
am  disobedient  ?" 

"  You  must  not  be  rude  to  me,"  she  remarked,  "  because 
that  is  a  trace  of  your  bringing-up  at  Airlie,  which  you 
have  nearly  forgotten.  It  is  a  relic  of  your  savage  nature. 
You  are  much  improved  ;  you  are  almost  civilised." 


254  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  I  saw  a  cart  of  turnips  go  by 
yesterday  quite  unprotected  from  behind,  and  I  did  not 

steal   one Hillo  !  who  is  that  sitting  with  Lady 

Drum  at  the  window  ?  " 

Coquette  looked  up,  and  did  not  betray  the  least  emotion, 
although  a  sharp  spasm  shot  across  her  heart. 

"  It  is  Lord  Earlshope,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  sudden  coldness  in  his  tone, 
and  returning  at  once  to  his  English  ;  "  it  is  rather  singular 
he  should  come  here  just  now,  but  that  is  his  own  affair. 
No  one  ever  could  tell  what  he  would  do  next.  Coquette,  I 
don't  think  I  shall  go  into  the  house  just  now — you  make 
my  excuses  to  Lady  Drum." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Coquette,  calmly. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  bid  him  good-bye.  He  was 
surprised.  He  expected  she  would  have  insisted  on  his 
going  into  the  house  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  she  seemed 
rather  relieved  that  he  was  going  away. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Coquette  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you 
vexed  because  I  am  going  away  ?  Very  well — I  will  go  in 
— come  along." 

And  with  that,  he  went  up  the  steps  ;  but  he  could  not 
tell  by  her  face  whether  or  not  she  had  been  annoyed  by  his 
wishing  to  go.  They  entered  the  house  together.  Lord 
Earlshope  rose  as  they  went  into  the  room,  and  stepped 
forward  to  meet  Coquette  ;  and  the  Whaup  watched  the 
manner  in  which  she  advanced  to  shake  hands  with  him. 
Why  were  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  her  face  a  trifle  pale  ? 
She  answered  in  almost  an  inaudible  way  the  kindly  inquiries 
which  Lord  Earlshope — whose  demeanour  was  quite  uncon- 
strained, frank,  and  courteous — made  as  to  her  having 
enjoyed  her  visit  to  Glasgow.  The  Whaup  himself,  in 
shaking  hands  with  his  rival,  was  constrained  to  admit 
that  there  was  something  pleasant  and  friendly  in  Earls- 
hope's  manner,  and  in  the  look  of  his  clear  light-blue  eye, 
which  rather  disarmed  suspicion.  In  a  very  few  minutes 
the  Whaup  had  completely  thawed,  and  was  laughing 
heartily  at  a  letter  sent  by  Mr.  Gillespie,  the  schoolmaster, 
which  Lord  Earlshope  read  aloud  to  Lady  Drum. 

Nevertheless,  as   he  went  to  his  lodgings  he  was  eon- 


THE  WHAUP  BECOMES  ANXIOUS.  255 

siderably  disquieted.  Ho  did  not  like  leaving  Lord 
Earlshope  in  the  company  of  Coquette.  It  seemed  to  him 
an  infringement  of  that  right  of  property  which  he  had 
acquired  by  her  promise.  In  the  old  days  he  was  vaguely 
jealous,  and  was  inclined  to  be  rudely  suspicious  of 
Coquette's  small  prevarications ;  but  his  jealousy  and 
liis  rudeness  were  readily  dissipated  whenever  he  came 
under  the  influence  of  Earlshope's  good  nature,  or  of 
Coquette's  gentle  solicitude.  Now  he  had  a  still  better 
claim  to  look  after  her.  Had  he  not  sworn  in  the  olden 
time  to  take  care  of  her,  and  be  her  champion  ?  Alas  ! 
the  Whaup  had  yet  to  learn  that  a  woman  is  best  left  to 
take  care  of  herself  in  such  delicate  matters  ;  and  that  no 
guard  can  be  placed  on  the  capricious  wanderings  of  her 
affection. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

AT  THE  THEATRE. 

Loud  Eatilshope  and  Lady  Drum  had  been  carelessly 
chatting  at  the  window  when  the  Whaup  and  Coquette 
drew  near.  They  saw  them  walking  up  the  slopes  of  the 
I  'ark  to  the  house,  and  Earlshope  said — 

"  What  a  handsome  fellow  Tom  Cassilis  has  grown  !  I 
have  never  seen  any  young  fellow  alter  so  rapidly." 

"  Has  he  not  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  little  touch  of 
pride — for  she  fancied  that  both  these  young  people  some- 
how belonged  to  her.     "  I  should  like  to  sec  them  married." 

It  is  possible  that  this  artless  confession  on  the  part  of 
the  old  lady  was  put  out  as  a  feeler.  She  liked  Tom  Cassilis 
well  enough  ;  but,  being  mortal  and  a  woman,  she  must 
have  wondered  sometimes  whether  Coquette  might  not  wed 
a  lord — especially  a  lord  who  had  frequently  betrayed  his 
admiration  for  her.  But,  when  she  said  this,  Earlshope 
betrayed  no  surprise.     He  merely  said — « 

"  They  will  make  a  handsome  pair  ;  and  many  a  man 
will  envy  young  Cassilis  his  good  fortune." 

Lady  Drum  was  a  trifle  disappointed.  Was  there  no 
mystery  at  all,  then,  connected  with  those  romantic  episodes 
in  the  Highlands?  Lord  Earlshope  talked  of  her proUgee 
as  if  she  were  merely  some  ordinary  country  girl  who  was 


356  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

about  to  marry  and  become  the  mistress  of  a  household  ; 
whereas  all  the  men  she  had  heard  talk  of  Coquette  spoke 
of  her  as  something  rare  and  wonderful.  Lady  Drum  was 
almost  sorry  that  she  had  asked  him  to  join  them  at  the 
theatre  that  evening ;  but  she  reflected  that,  if  Lord 
Earlshope  were  so  indifferent,  the  peaceful  progress  of  the 
two  cousins  towards  marriage  was  rendered  all  the  more 
secure.  She  only  thought  that  Coquette  would  have  made 
a  beautiful  and  charming  hostess  to  preside  over  the 
hospitalities  of  Earlshope. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  when  Coquette  came  down 
to  dinner  dressed  for  the  theatre.  "  We  hae  made  our 
toilette  something  just  quite  extraordinary.  Mr.  Thomas 
is  a  fortunate  lad  to  hae  so  much  done  for  him." 

"  I  do  not  dress  for  him,  or  for  any  one,"  said  Coquette, 
with  an  air  of  calm  magnificence. 

This  going  to  the  theatre  was  quite  an  excitement  for 
Coquette,  who  had  not  visited  any  such  place  of  amusement 
since  she  left  France.  Lady  Drum  warned  her  not  to  say 
anything  about  it  in  her  letters  to  Airlie,  or  the  chances  were 
that  the  Minister  would  order  her  recall  from  Glasgow  at  once. 

"  And  my  cousin,"  said  Coquette,  "  has  he  never  been  to 
any  theatre  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  say,"  remarked  Lady  Drum, 
with  a  smile. 

When  at  length  they  drove  down  to  the  big  building,  and 
went  up  the  broad  staircase,  and  got  into  the  corridor,  there 
was  an  odour  of  escaped  gas  and  a  confused  sound  of  music 
which  quite  delighted  Coquette — it  was  so  like  the  odour 
and  the  sound  prevalent  in  the  theatres  she  had  visited  long 
ago  in  France.  And  when  they  got  into  the  box,  which  was 
the  biggest  in  the  theatre,  they  found  the  Whaup  already 
there,  with  two  bouquets  awaiting  Lady  Drum  and  Coquette. 
Lady  Drum,  naturally  taking  the  place  of  honour,  was 
perhaps  a  little  glad  to  screen  herself  in  her  corner  by  the 
curtains.;  but  Coquette,  with  the  calm  air  of  a  princess, 
and  with  her  brilliant  toilette  getting  a  new  splendour  from 
the  gleaming  lights  of  the  house,  took  her  seat,  and  lifted 
her  bouquet,  and  made  the  Whaup  a  pretty  speech  of  thanks 
which  filled  his  heart  with  pleasure  ;  then  she  turned  her 
attention  to  the  stage. 


AT  THE  THEATRE.  257 

"  Shall  I  ever  be  able,"  said  the  Whaup  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  wistfully  at  her,  "  to  give  her  pretty  dresses  like  that, 
and  buy  her  pearls  for  her  neck  and  her  hair,  and  take  her 
to  all  the  amusements  ?  " 

The  young  gentleman  was  rather  proud  ;  and  would  not 
even  acknowledge  to  himself  that  Coquette  could  buy  pearls 
for  herself  and  pay  for  far  more  amusements  than  she  cared 
to  see. 

The  performances  need  not  be  described  in  detail.  They 
consisted,  in  the  first  place,  of  a  romantic  drama  of  the  good 
old  kind,  in  which  a  lot  of  very  pronounced  characters — 
whose  virtues  and  vices  they  took  every  opportunity  of 
revealing  to  the  audience — did  impossible  things  in  im- 
possible places  and  talked  a  language  unfamiliar  to  any 
nation  at  present  inhabiting  the  earth.  This  piece  was  to 
be  followed  by  a  burlesque,  for  which  Sir  Peter  professed 
himself  to  be  impatient. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  there  is  in  every  burlesque  a  young 
lady  with  a  saucy  face  and  pretty  ankles,  with  whom 
you  can  fall  in  love  for  an  hour  or  two  with  impunity. 
And  I  am  anxious  for  her  appearance ;  because  Miss 
Coquette  has  quite  deserted  me,  and  I  am  left  out  in  the 
cold." 

The  truth  is,  Coquette  had  discovered  in  her  cousin  a 
quite  astonishing  familiarity  with  this  theatre.  He  was 
acquainted  with  all  its  arrangements,  and  seemed  to  know 
the  name  of  everybody  in  connection  with  it.  Now,  how 
had  he  gained  this  knowledge  ? 

"  Oh,  I  do  see  that  the  life  of  the  students  is  not  all 
study,"  Coquette  remarked,  with  a  gracious  sarcasm  ;  "  you 
do  sometimes  find  them  singing  '  Come  lasses  and  lads,'  and 
they  do  waste  time  with  tobacco  and  laughing,  and  even 
know  a  good  deal  about  the  actresses  of  the  theatre.  Why 
was  none  of  that  in  your  letters  to  Airlie  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Coquette,"  said  the  Whaup, 
with  a  laugh  and  a  blush  that  became  his  handsome  face 
well,  "  I  dared  not  tell  anybody  at  Airlie  I  went  to  the 
theatre  ;  nor  do  I  think  I  should  have  gone  in  any  case  but 
for  a  notion  I  had  that,  somehow  or  other,  you  must  like 
the  theatre.  You  never  told  me  that,  you  know,  but  I 
guessed  it  from — from — from — ■" 

S 


258  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HEJH. 

"  From  my  manner,  or  my  talk  ?  You  do  think  me  like 
an  actress,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  that  at  all,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  You  are 
too  sincere  and  simple  in  your  ways.  But  somehow  I 
thought  that,  with  your  having  been  brought  up  in  the 
south,  and  accustomed  to  a  southern  liking  for  enjoyment 
and  artistic  things,  and  with  your  sympathy  for  fine  colours, 
and  for  music,  and  all  that — why,  I  thought,  Coquette,  you 
would  be  sure  to  like  the  theatre  ;  and  so,  do  you  know,  I 
used  to  come  here  very  often — not  here,  of  course,  but  away 
up  there  to  that  dark  gallery — and  I  used  to  sit  and  think 
what  the  theatre  would  be  like  when  Coquette  came  to 
see  it." 

He  spoke  quite  shyly  ;  for,  indeed,  he  half  fancied  she 
might  laugh  at  those  romantic  dreamings  of  his  when  he 
was  far  away  from  her  in  the  big  city ;  but  when  he 
ventured  to  steal  a  glance  at  her  face,  lo  !  the  soft  dark 
eyes  were  quite  moist.  And  she  pretended  to  look  down 
into  the  circle  of  flowers  he  had  given  her,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice — ■ 

"  You  have  been  thinking  of  me  very  much  when  I  was 
down  in  Airlie,  and  you  here  by  yourself.  I  do  not  deserve 
it — but  I  will  show  my  gratitude  to  you  some  day." 

"  Why,  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  you  need  not  thank  me  for 
it.  Only  to  think  of  you  was  a  pleasure  to  me — the  only 
pleasure  I  had  all  that  long  winter  time." 

Had  Lady  Drum  heard  the  whispered  little  sentences 
which  passed  between  these  two  young  folks,  she  might, 
perhaps,  have  thought  that  they  expressed  more  genuine 
emotion  than  the  bursts  of  rhetoric  in  which,  on  the  stage, 
the  lucky  lover  was  declaring  his  passion  for  the  plump  and 
middle-aged  heroine.  But  they  took  care  she  should  hear 
nothing  of  it. 

Presently  in  came  Lord  Earlshope  with  his  crush-hat 
under  his  arm  ;  and  he,  also,  had  brought  two  bouquets. 
The  Whaup  noticed,  with  a  passing  twinge  of  mortification, 
that  these  were  far  finer  and  more  delicate  flowers  than  he 
had  been  able  to  buy,  and  he  expected  to  see  his  own  poor 
gifts  immediately  laid  aside.  But  he  did  not  know  Coquette. 
She  thanked  Lord  Earlshope  very  graciously  for  the  flowers, 
and  said  how  fortunate  it  was  he  had  brought  them. 


AT  THE  THEATRE.  259 

"  For  I  always  do  like  to  throw  a  bouquet  to  the  actress1 
after  her  long  evening's  work,  yet  I  was  becoming  sorry  to 
give  her  the  flowers  that  my  cousin  did  bring  me.  But  you 
have  brought  one  for  her,  too,  if  I  may  give  it  to  her  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Earlshope,  who  probably  did 
not  put  such  value  on  a  handful  of  flowers  as  did  the 
AY  lump  :  "  and  when  you  wish  to  give  it  her,  let  me  pitch  it 
on  the  stage,  or  you  will  probably  hit  one  of  the  men  in  the 
orchestra." 

"But  you  must  keep  them  for  the  young  lady  of  the 
burlesque,"  said  Sir  Peter  ;  "  she  is  always  better-looking 
than  the  heroine  of  the  drama,  isn't  she,  isn't  she  ?  Then 
you  have  a  greater  opportunity  of  judging." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  look  of  such  severity 
as  effectually  to  prevent  her  husband  answering — instead,  he 
turned  away  and  gaily  hummed  something  about 

"  Ecoutez  la  le^on 
Qui  vous  fait  Hcnriette." 

But  there  was  another  woman  in  the  theatre  who  had 
attracted  their  attention  before  Lord  Earlshope  had  arrived. 
She  was  seated  in  the  corner  of  the  box  opposite  ;  and,  as  a 
rule,  was  hidden  behind  the  curtain.  When  they  did  get  a 
glimpse  of  her,  her  manner  and  appearance  were  so  singular 
as  to  attract  a  good  deal  of  attention.  She  was  of  middle 
height,  stout,  with  rather  a  florid  face,  coal-black  hair,  and  a 
wild,  uncertain  look,  which  was  seldom  fixed  on  any  object 
for  two  minutes  together.  Oddly  enough,  she  stared  over 
at  Coquette  in  rather  a  peculiar  way  ;  until  that  young  lady 
studiously  kept  her  eyes  on  the  stage,  and  did  not  again 
glance  towards  the  opposite  box. 

"  Singular-looking  woman,  isn't  she  ?  "  said  Sir  Peter. 
"Opium,  eh?  eh?  Is  that  opium  that  makes  her  eyes 
so  wild  ?  She  drinks,  I  swear,  and  seems  mad  with  drink, 
eh  ?  eh  ?    What  do  you  say,  Cassilis  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  of  that  person,"  said  Lady 
Drum  ;  and  then  the  conversation  dropped. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  Lord  Earlshope  had 
come  into  the  theatre,  this  woman  apparently  retired  from 
her  corner  behind  the  curtain ;  then  she  walked  forward 
from  the  back  of  the  box  to  the  front  of  it ;  and  there  stood 

s  2 


26o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

at  full  length,  looking  over,  with  an  odd  expression  of 
amusement  on  her  face,  at  the  group  in  front  of  Lady 
Drum's  box.  The  movement  was  noticed  by  the  whole 
theatre ;  and  certainly  it  was  noticed  by  Lord  Earlshope ; 
for,  during  one  second,  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  fixed  on  this 
woman  ;  and  then,  still  regarding  her,  he  retreated  a  step 
or  two  from  the  front  of  the  box,  with  his  face  becoming 
deadly  white. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  anxiously — for 
he  had  been  speaking  to  her — "  you  have  become  very  pale — 
are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Lady  Drum,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  privately  for  a 
moment,"  he  said,  quite  calmly,  but  with  a  singular  con- 
straint of  manner  that  somewhat  alarmed  her. 

She  rose  at  once,  and  followed  him  into  the  corridor 
outside.  There  he  stood,  apparently  quite  composed  and  yet 
still  very  pale. 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  Miss  Cassilis  home  at  once  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Take  her  home  !     Why?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  why,"  he  said,  with  some  show  of 
anxiety  and  impatience.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  why ;  but  I 
wish,  Lady  Drum,  you  would.  I  beg  you — I  entreat  you  to 
take  her  away  instantly  !  " 

"  But  why  ?  "  said  the  old  lady,  who  was  at  once  perplexed 
and  alarmed. 

"You  saw  that  woman  opposite,"  said  Lord  Earlshope, 
rather  abandoning  the  calmness  of  his  demeanour.  "She 
will  come  round  here  presently — I  know  she  will — she 
will  go  into  the  box — she  will  insult  Miss  Cassilis  :  for 
Heaven's  sake,  Lady  Drum,  get  her  out  of  the  way  of  that 
woman  ! " 

"  Bless  me !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  elevating  her  eyebrows, 
"are  we  a'  to  be  frightened  out  o'  our  wits  by  a  mad 
woman,  and  three  men  wi'  us  ?  And  if  there  was  no  one  wi' 
us,"  she  added,  drawing  herself  up,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  the 
girl  being  insulted  if  she  is  under  my  care ;  and  what  for 
should  any  woman,  mad  as  she  may  be,  fasten  upon  us  ? 
My  certes  !  I  will  see  that  she  does  not  come  near  the  girl, 
or  my  name  is  not  Margaret  Ainslie  !  " 

For  a  moment  or  two  Lord  Earlshope  stood  irresolute, 


-  AT  THE  THEATRE.  261 

with  mortification  and  dismay  plainly  evident  on  his  pale 
features  ;  then  he  said,  suddenly — - 

"  I  must  tell  you  at  once,  Lady  Drum.  I  have  many  a 
time  determined  to  do  so — but  put  it  off  until  now — when  I 
can  be  silent  no  longer.  That  woman  in  the  theatre  just 
now,  a  woman  soddened  and  mad  with  brandy — is  my  wife — ■ 
at  least,  she  was  my  wife  some  years  ago.  Goodness  knows, 
I  have  no  reason  to  be  afraid  of  her  but  one — ifc  is  for  the 
sake  of  Miss  Cassilis  I  beg  of  you,  Lady  Drum — to  take  her 
away — out  of  her  reach — she  is  a  woman  of  outrageous 
passions — a  scene  in  a  public  place  will  have  all  the  excite- 
ment of  a  new  sort  of  drunkenness  for  her " 

To  all  these  incoherent  ejaculations,  Lady  Drum  only 
replied — 

"  Your  wife  !  " 

"This  is  not  a  time  to  blame  me  for  anything,"  he  said, 
hurriedly.  "  I  cannot  give  you  any  explanations  just  now. 
You  don't  know  why  I  should  have  concealed  my  marriage 
with  this  horrible  woman — but  you  will  not  blame  me  when 
you  hear.    All  I  want  is  to  secure  Miss  Cassilis'  safety." 

"That,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  firmness,  "is  secure 
enough  in  my  keeping.  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Lord 
Earlshope — she  is  quite  secure  where  she  is." 

"  You  mean  to  keep  her  in  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly." 

"Then  I  will  go.  If  I  leave,  that  woman's  mood  may 
change ;  but  I  see  from  her  laughing  to  herself  that  she  means 
mischief.  I  cannot  charge  my  own  wife  at  the  police- 
court." 

He  left  the  theatre  there  and  then.  Lady  Drum  returned 
to  the  box,  and  made  some  sort  of  apology  for  his  departure. 
But  she  did  not  see  much  of  what  was  going  on  upon  the 
stage ;  for  her  thoughts  were  busy  with  many  strange  things 
that  she  now  recollected  as  having  been  connected  with 
Lord  Earlshope  ;  and  sometimes  she  turned  from  Coquette's 
face  to  glance  at  the  box  opposite.  Coquette  was  thoroughly 
enjoying  the  piece  ;  the  woman  in  the  opposite  box  remained 
hidden,  and  was  apparently  alone. 


262  A   DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  XLIIT. 

COQUETTE   IS  TOLD. 

Lady  Drum  began  to  grow  afraid.  Should  she  send 
Coquette  at  once  back  to  Airlie  ?  Her  first  impulse,  on 
hearing  the  disclosures  made  by  Lord  Earlshope  at  the 
theatre,  was  one  of  indignation  and  anger  against  himself, 
for  having,  as  she  thought,  unnecessarily  acted  a  lie  during 
so  many  years,  and  deceived  his  friends.  She  now  under- 
stood all  the  strange  references  he  had  often  made  to  married 
life — the  half-concealed  and  bitter  irony  of  his  talk — his 
nervous  susceptibility  on  certain  points — his  frequent 
appearance  of  weariness  and  hopelessness,  as  of  a  man  to 
whom  life  was  no  longer  of  any  value.  She  was  amazed  at 
the  morbid  sense  of  shame  which  rendered  this  man  so 
anxious  to  avoid  the  confession  of  his  having  made  a 
desperate  blunder  in  his  youth.  "Why  had  he  gone  about 
under  false  colours  ?  Why  had  he  imposed  on  his  friends  ? 
Why  had  he  spoken  to  Coquette  ? 

This  thought  of  Coquette  flashed  upon  Lady  Drum  as  a 
revelation.  She  knew  now  why  the  disclosure  of  Earls- 
hope's  marriage  had  made  her  angry ;  and  she  at  once  did 
him  the  justice  of  remembering  that,  so  far  as  she  knew, 
he  had  made  no  pretensions  to  be  the  lover  of  Coquette. 
That  had  been  Lady  Drum's  secret  hope  :  he  could  not  be 
blamed  for  it. 

But  at  the  same  time  there  was  something  about  the 
relations  between  Earlshope  and  Coquette  which  she  did 
not  understand  ;  and  as  she  felt  herself  peculiarly  responsible 
for  that  young  lady,  she  began  to  ask  herself  if  she  had 
not  better  make  all  things  safe  by  sending  Coquette  home  to 
her  uncle.  Lady  Drum  sat  in  the  corner  of  her  morning- 
room,  and  looked  down  from  the  window  on  the  Park. 
Coquette  was  out  there  as  usual — for  there  was  sunshine 
abroad,  which  she  loved  as  a  drunkard  loves  drink — and  she 
was  leisurely  reading  a  book  under  the  shadow  of  her  sun- 
shade. How  quiet  and  happy  she  looked — buried  away  from 
all  consciousness  of  the  world  around  her  in  that  other  world 


COQUETTE  IS  TOLD.  263 

of  romance  that  lay  unfolded  on  her  knee  !  Lady  Drum 
had  got  to  love  the  girl  with  a  mother's  tenderness  ;  and  as 
she  now  looked'  down  on  her  she  wondered  what  precautions 
could  be  taken  to  render  the  fair  young  life  inviolate  from 
wrong  and  suffering,  if  that  were  possible. 

First  of  all,  she  wrote  a  note  to  Lord  Earlshope,  and  sent 
it  down  to  his  hotel,  asking  him  to  call  on  her  immediately. 
She  wished  to  have  further  explanations  before  saying  any- 
thing to  Sir  Peter,  or,  indeed,  to  any  one  of  the  little  circle 
that  had  been  formed  at  Airlie.  At  the  moment  she  was 
writing  this  letter,  Earlshope  himself  was  walking  quickly 
up  to  the  place  where  Coquette  sat. 

"  All,  it  is  you  !  I  do  wish  much  to  see  you  for  a 
few  moments,"  she  said,  with  something  of  gladness  in  her 
face. 

He  did  not  reply  ;  but  sat  down  beside  her,  his  lips  firm, 
and  his  brow  clouded.  She  did  not  notice  this  alteration 
from  his  ordinary  demeanour  ;  but  immediately  proceeded 
to  say,  in  rather  a  low  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  grown  serious 
and  even  anxious — ■ 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  I  have  been  thinking  over 
all  our  position  with  each  other,  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
for  a  favour.     First  of  all,  I  will  tell  you  a  secret." 

Why  did  she  look  constrained,  and  even  agitated  ?  he 
asked  himself.  Had  she  already  heard  from  Lady  Drum  ? 
Her  fingers  were  working  nervously  with  the  book  before 
her  ;  her  breath  seemed  to  go  and  come  more  quickly  ;  and 
her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  This  is  what  I  must  tell  you,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground.  "  I  have  promised  to  my  cousin  to  be 
his  wife.  I  did  tell  you  I  should  do  that,  and  now  it  is 
done,  and  he  is  glad.  I  am  not  glad,  perhaps — not  now — 
but  afterwards  it  may  be  different.  And  so,  as  I  am  to  be 
his  wife,  I  do  not  think  it  is  right  I  should  see  you  any 
more  ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  go  away  now  altogether,  and 
when  we  do  meet,  here  or  in  Airlie,  it  will  be  the  same 
with  us  as  strangers.  You  will  do  this  for  my  sake — will 
you  not  ?  It  is  much  to  ask  ;  I  shall  be  more  sorry  than 
you,  perhaps ;  but  how  can  I  see  you  if  I  am  to  marry 
him?" 

"And  so  we  are  to  be  strangers,  Coquette,"  he  said,  quite 


264  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

calmly.  "  It  is  all  over,  then.  We  have  had  some  pleasant 
dreaming  ;  but  the  daylight  has  come,  and  the  work  of  the 
world.  When  we  meet  each  other,  as  you  say,  it  will  be  as 
strangers — strangers  as  on  the  first  morning  I  saw  you  at 
Airlie,  driving  up  the  road  in  the  sunlight,  when  I  was  glad 
to  know  that  you  were  going  to  remain  at  the  Manse.  All 
that  happened  down  at  Airlie  is  to  be  forgotten  ;  and  you 
and  I  are  just  like  two  people  passing  each  other  in  the 
street,  and  not  expecting,  perhaps,  even  to  meet  again.  Yet 
there  are  some  things  which  neither  you  nor  1  shall  ever 
forget." 

"  Ah,  I  know  that — I  know  that  !  "  said  Coquette,  almost 
wildly.  "  Do  not  speak  of  all  that  now.  Sometimes  I  do 
think  I  cannot  do  as  my  cousin  wishes — I  become  afraid — 
I  cannot  speak  to  him — I  begin  to  tremble  when  I  think 
of  all  the  long  years  to  come.  Alas  !  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  whether  I  shall  live  till  then." 

"  Coquette,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said.  "  Have  you 
resolved  to  make  your  life  miserable  ?  Is  this  how  you 
look  forward  to  marriage,  which  ought  to  be  the  proudest 
event  in  a  woman's  life,  and  the  seal  of  all  the  happiness  to 
come  after  ?     What  have  you  done,  Coquette  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  what  I  ought  to  do,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is 
only  at  moments  that  I  do  fear  of  it.  My  cousin  is  very 
good  ;  he  is  very  fond  of  me  ;  he  will  break  his  heart  if  I 
do  not  marry  him.  And  I  do  like  him  very  well,  too. 
Perhaps,  in  some  years,  I  shall  have  forgotten  a  great  deal 
of  all  that  is  past  now,  and  shall  have  come  to  be  very  fond 
of  him,  too  ;  and  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  become  his 
wife.  You  must  not  be  sorry  for  me.  You  must  not  think 
it  is  a  sacrifice,  or  anything  like  that.  When  I  am  afraid 
now — when  I  am  sad  too,  so  that  I  wish  I  could  go  away  to 
France,  and  not  see  any  more  of  this  country — it  is  only 
when  I  do  think  of  Airlie,  and  of — of — •" 

She  never  finished  the  sentence,  because  her  lips  were 
beginning  to  quiver.  And  for  a  moment,  too,  his  look  had 
grown  absent,  as  if  he  were  calling  up  memories  of  the  days 
of  their  meetings  on  the  moor — meetings  which  were  but 
recent,  and  yet  which  now  seemed  buried  far  away  in  the 
forlorn  mists  of  the  past.  All  at  once  he  appeared  to  rouse 
himself,  and  said,  with  some  abruptness — 


COQUETTE  IS  TOLD.  265 

"  Coquette,  you  do  not  blame  me  for  being  unable  to  help 
you  in  your  distress.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why  I  cannot. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  will  render  it  unnecessary  for 
me  to  promise  not  to  see  you  again  ;  for  you  will  hate  the 
sight  of  me,  and  consider  me  not  fit  to  be  spoken  to  by  any 
honest  man  or  woman.  Many  and  many  a  time  have  I 
determined  to  tell  you  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  so  hard  that  I 
should  make  you  my  enemy — that  you  should  go  away  only 
with  contempt  for  me 

£he  interrupted  him  quickly,  and  with  some  alarm  on  her 
face. 

"  Ah,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  You  will  tell  me  something 
you  have  done — why  ?  What  is  the  use  of  that  now  ?  I 
do  not  wish  to  hear  it.  I  wish  to  think  of  you  always  as  I 
think  now  ;  and  when  I  look  back  at  our  last  meeting  in 
Glasgow — you  sitting  there,  I  here,  and  bidding  good-bye  to 
all  that  time  which  began  down  at  Airlie,  I  shall  have 
pleasure  of  it,  even  if  I  cry  about  it.  Why  do  you  tell  me 
this  thing  ?  What  is  the  use  ?  Is  it  wise  to  do  it  ?  I 
have  seen  you  often  about  to  tell  me  a  secret.  I  have  seen 
you  disturbed  and  anxious  ;  and  sometimes  I  have  wondered, 
too,  and  wished  to  know.  But  then,  I  did  think  there  was 
enough  trouble  in  the  world  without  adding  this  ;  and  I 
hoped  you  would  remain  to  me  always  as  you  were  then — 
when  I  did  first  begin  to  know  you." 

"Why,  Coquette,"  he  said,  with  a  strange,  half-tender 
look  of  admiration,  "  your  generosity  shames  me  all  the 
more,  and  shows  me  what  a  horribly  selfish  wretch  I  have 
been.    You  don't  half  seem  to  know  how  good  you  are." 

His  voice  dropped  a  little  here,  as  there  was  some  one 
coming  along  the  road.  Lord  Earlshope  and  Coquette 
both  sat  silent,  and  did  not  look  up,  expecting  the  stranger 
to  pass. 

But  the  stranger  did  not  pass.  On  the  contrary,  she  came 
nearer,  as  if  to  sit  down  ou  the  same  seat  with  them,  and 
so  Earlshope  turned  round  to  see  who  she  was.  No 
sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he  started  to  his  feet  with 
an  oath,  and  confronted  the  woman  who  stood  before  him. 
Coquette,  alarmed  beyond  measure,  saw  that  the  stranger 
was  the  singular-looking  person,  with  the  coarse  and  red 
face,  and  the  unsteady  black  eyes,  who  had  sat  opposite  her 


266  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

in  the  theatre  the  previous  evening,  and  who  now  regarded 
both  herself  and  Lord  Earlshope  with  a  glance  full  of  mali- 
cious amusement  in  it.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  had  his  face 
white  with  rage,  and  indeed,  had  advanced  a  step  or  two  as 
if  to  thrust  her  back  from  Coquette  ;  but  now  he  stood  with 
apparent  self-control,  his  hands  clenched. 

"You  had  better  go  home,"  he  said,  still  facing  the 
stranger.  "  I  give  you  fair  warning  you  had  better  go 
home." 

"  Why,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  loud  laugh,  "  you  have 
not  said  as  much  to  me  for  six  years  back !  You  might 
give  me  a  pleasanter  welcome.  My  dear,"  she  added,  look- 
ing to  Coquette,  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you  ;  but  do 
you  know  who  I  am  ?  I  am  Lady  Earlshope.  You  are  not 
surprised  ?  Perhaps  you  don't  understand  ?  Indeed,  I  saw 
you  were  a  foreigner  by  your  dress  last  evening.  The  women 
in  this  country  don't  know  how  to  dress  ;  do  they  ?  What 
are  you — Italian  or  French  ?  " 

Coquette  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  stood  quite  still — a 
trifle  pale,  perhaps,  but  not  visibly  terrified.  The  woman 
advanced  a  step  or  two  ;  Lord  Earlshope  caught  her  by  the 
wrist.  Her  air  of  bantering  merriment  changed  in  a 
moment,  and  a  glow  of  passion  sprang  to  the  hot,  powerful- 
looking  face,  and  the  sullen  black  eyes.  She  wrenched  away 
her  hand  with  an  angry  vehemence,  and  let  loose  all  the 
venom  of  her  tongue. 

"  Have  you  no  shame,  woman,  that  you  make  an  exhi- 
bition of  yourself  in  the  open  day  ?  "  he  said.  "  Are  you 
determined  to  give  me  the  honour  of  appearing  in  a  police- 
court  against  you  ?  " 

With  that  she  burst  out  into  another  laugh,  the  harshness 
and  unreality  of  which  sounded  strangely  in  Coquette's  ears. 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  been  in  a  police-court. 
Did  you  hear  of  my  horse-whipping  that  old  Duke  in  the 
streets  of  Madrid  ?  Yes,  I  thought  you  must  have  heard 
the  story.  Come,  Harry,  let's  be  friends  !  I  will  leave  you 
with  the  little  Italian.  I  have  my  carriage  at  the  gate 
there — there  is  brandy  in  it — shall  we  celebrate  the  charm- 
ing conjugal  scene  we  have  just  gone  through  ?    No  !  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  laughed  in  a  vacuous 
way ;  it  was  apparent  she  required  no  more  brandy. 


COQUETTE  IS  TOLD.  267 

"  Good-bye,  then,  for  the  present.  This  little  conversation 
with  you,  Harry,  has  been  quite  delightful — reminding  one 
of  old  days — but  don't  you  lay  hands  on  me  again,  or, 
by  heavens,  you  will  be  a  dead  man  the  next  moment. 
Addio,  addio  !  And  for  you,  you  pretty  little  signorina,  with 
the  black  eyes  and  the  dumb  mouth,  quando  avrd  ilpiacere  di 
rirrderla  ?  What,  you  don't  speak  Italian  either  ?  Never 
mind.     I  shall  see  both  of  you  again,  I  hope." 

She  walked  back  along  the  road  to  the  gate  of  the  park, 
where  an  open  carriage  was  waiting.  A  servant  opened  the 
door  for  her.  She  stepped  up  and  took  her  seat,  and  drove 
off  alone,  laughing  and  kissing  her  hands  in  a  tipsy  fashion 
to  the  pair  she  had  just  left. 

"  Coquette,"  said  Earlshope,  "  that  is  my  wife." 

He  was  watching  every  line  of  her  face,  with  an  anxious 
sadness,  to  gather  what  her  first  impulse  would  be.  And  yet 
he  felt  that  in  uttering  these  words  he  had  for  ever  disgraced 
himself  in  her  eyes,  and  deserved  only  to  be  thrust  away 
from  her  with  horror  and  shame.  Indeed  he  waited  to  hear 
her  own  lips  pronounce  his  condemnation  and  decree  his 
banishment. 

Coquette  came  a  step  nearer  and  looked  him  in  the  face, 
and  held  out  her  hand,  and  said — 

"  I  know  it  all  now,  and  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

"  But  don't  you  remember  what  I  have  done,  Coquette  ?  " 
he  said,  with  wonder  in  his  look.  "I  am  not  fit  to 
take  your  hand.  But  if  you  would  only  listen  to  me 
for  a  moment — that  is  all  I  ask.  Will  you  sit  down, 
Coquette  ?  I  cannot  excuse  myself,  but  I  want  to  tell  you 
something." 

"  You  have  had  a  sad  life,"  said  Coquette,  calmly.  "  I  do 
now  know  the  reason  of  many  things,  and  I  cannot  be 
angry;  It  is  no  use  to  be  angry  now,  when  we  are 
going  away  from  each  other." 

"  You  see  that  woman,"  he  said,  sinking  down  on  the  seat 
with  an  expression  of  the  most  utter  and  hopeless  despair. 
"  I  married  her  when  I  was  a  lad  fresh  from  college.  I  met 
her  in  Paris — I  was  travelling — she,  too,  was  going  about 
with  her  father,  who  called  himself  an  officer ;  I  followed 
her  from  town  to  town  ;  and  in  three  months  I  was  married. 
Married  ! — chained  to  a  wild  beast  rather.     When  I  got  to 


268  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

know  the  hideous  habits  of  the  woman  to  whom  I  Was 
indissolubly  linked,  suicide  was  my  first  thought.  What 
other  refuge  had  I  from  a  state  of  things  that  was  worse 
than  anything  death  could  bring  to  me  ?  The  law  cannot 
step  in  between  her  and  me.  Brutal  and  debased  as  she  is, 
she  has  far  too  good  a  notion  of  the  advantages  of  a  toler- 
able income  to  risk  it  by  doing  anything  on  which  I  could 
claim  a  divorce.  Ignorant  and  passionate  she  is  ;  but  she  is 
not  a  fool  in  money  matters  ;  and  so  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  buy  up  her  absence  by  paying  any  price  for  it.  I 
discovered  what  sort  of  woman  she  was  before  we  ever 
returned  to  England  ;  and  when  I  came  back  here,  I  came 
alone.  I  dreaded  the  exposure  of  the  blunder  I  had  com- 
mitted, partly  on  my  own  account,  but  chiefly  on  account  of 
the  disgrace  I  had  brought  on  my  family.  How  could 
I  introduce  this  drunken  and  insolent  woman  to  my  friends, 
and  have  them  insulted  by  her  open  defiances  of  decency  ? 
Year  after  year  I  lived  down  there  at  Earlshope — -hearing 
only  of  her  wild  escapades  from  a  distance.  I  exacted  from 
her,  as  a  condition  of  giving  her  more  than  the  half  of  my 
income,  a  promise  to  drop  my  name  ;  and  perhaps  you  may 
have  heard  of  the  notorious  Mrs.  Smith  Arnold,  with  whom 
the  London  magistrates  are  familiar.  That  is  the  woman 
you  have  just  seen.  These  stories  came  to  me  down  at 
Earlshope,  until  I  dared  scarcely  open  a  newspaper ;  and  I 
grew  to  hate  the  very  sight  of  woman,  as  being  related 
to  the  devil  who  had  ruined  my  life.  And  then  you  came  to 
Airlie." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  She  had  never  before  seen 
him  so  moved. 

"  I  looked  in  your  pure  and  young  face,  and  I  thought  the 
world  seemed  to  grow  more  wholesome  and  sweet.  I  began 
to  believe  that  there  were  tender  and  true-hearted  women  in 
the  world ;  and  sometimes  I  thought  what  I  might  have 
been,  too,  but  for  that  irremediable  blunder.  Fancy  some 
sinner  in  hell,  who  is  tortured  by  remorse  over  the  sins  and 
lost  opportunities  of  his  life,  and  there  comes  to  him  a  bunch 
of  pale  violets,  sweet  with  the  fragrant  memories  of  his 
youth,  when  the  world  was  innocent  and  fair  to  him,  and 
when  he  believed  in  the  girl  who  was  walking  with  him, 
and  in  the  heaven  over  his  head — *-*  " 


COQUETTE  IS  TOLD.  269 

"  Ah,  do  not  talk  like  that !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  more 
terrible  than  all  you  have  told  ine." 

"  You  do  not  know  the  condition  into  which  I  had  sunk. 
To  you  I  was  a  mere  easy-tempered  idler,  who  strolled  about 
the  country  and  amused  himself  indolently.  To  myself  I 
was  a  sepulchre,  filled  with  the  dead  bones  and  dust  of 
buried  hopes  and  beliefs.  What  had  I  to  live  for  ?  When 
I  went  about  and  saw  other  men  enjoying  the  comfort 
of  happy  domestic  relations — men  who  had  a  home,  and 
a  constant  companion  and  confidante  to  share  their  holiday 
journeys  or  their  quiet  summer  evenings — my  own  solitude 
and  wretchedness  were  all  the  more  forcibly  thrust  on 
me.  I  shut  myself  up  in  that  house  at  Airlie.  It  was 
enough  if  the  hours  went  by — enough  that  I  was  left  alone. 
Goodness  knows,  I  did  not  complain  much  or  seek  to 
revenge  myself  on  society  for  my  own  mistake.  If  my 
blunder,  according  to  the  existing  state  of  the  law, 
demanded  so  much  punishment,  I  was  willing  to  suffer  it. 
During  these  solitary  days,  I  used  to  study  myself  as  if  there 
were  another  being  beside  me,  and  watch  how  the  last 
remnants  of  belief  in  anything  were  being  gradually  worn 
away,  bit  by  bit,  by  the  irritation  of  this  sense  of  wrong.  If 
you  had  known  me  as  I  really  was  when  you  first  saw 
me,  you  would  have  shrank  away  in  fear.  Do  you  remember 
the  morning  I  got  up  on  the  dog-cart  to  talk  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  For  a  few  moments  I  forgot  myself.  When  I  left  you  at 
the  Manse,  I  discovered  to  my  intense  astonishment  that  I 
was  quite  cheerful — that  the  world  seemed  ever  so  much 
brighter,  and  that  Airlie  moor  looked  well  in  the  sunlight. 
Then  I  thought  of  your  coming  in  among  those  gloomy 
Cameronians,  and  whether  your  light  and  happy  southern 
nature,  which  I  saw  even  then,  would  conquer  the  prejudice 
and  suspicion  around  you.  It  was  a  problem  that  interested 
me  deeply.  When  I  got  to  know  you  a  little  you  used  to  tell 
me  inadvertently,  how  things  were  going  on  at  the  Manse, 
and  I  saw  that  the  fight  would  be  a  hard  one,  but  that  you 
would  win  in  the  end.  First  of  all,  you  took  your  cousin 
captive — that  was  natural.  Then  the  Minister.  Then  you 
won  over  Leezibeth.  There  remains  only  Andrew  now  ;  for 
I  think  you  would  secure  a  large  majority  in  &  plebiscite  of  the 


270  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

villagers.  As  for  myself,  that  I  can  scarcely  talk  about  just 
yet.  It  seemed  so  harmless  a  thing  at  first  for  me  to  see  you 
— to  have  the  comfort  even  of  looking  at  you  from  a  distance 
as  you  sat  in  the  little  church — or  to  pass  you  on  the  road, 
with  a  look  and  a  smile.  There  was  a  new  life  in  Airlie. 
Sometimes  I  thought  bitterly  of  what  might  have  been  but 
for  the  error  which  had  ruined  me ;  but  that  thought 
disappeared  in  the  actual  enjoyment  of  your  presence.  Then 
I  began  to  play  with  the  danger  that  would  have  been  more 
obvious  to  another  man,  but  which  I  laughed  at.  For  was  it 
possible  that  I  could  fall  in  love,  like  a  schoolboy,  and  sigh 
and  write  verses  ?  I  began  to  make  experiments  with 
myself.  You  know  the  rest,  Coquette  ;  but  you  do  not  know 
the  remorse  that  struck  me  when  I  found  that  my  thought- 
lessness had  prepared  a  great  misery  for  you." 

"  It  was  no  misery,"  she  said,  simply  ;  "  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  me  ;  and  if  it  was  wrong,  which  I  do  not  know,  it  comes 
to  an  end  now.  And  you — I  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  for 
your  life  has  not  been  a  happy  one — and  you  did  not  know 
until  we  were  up  in  the  Highlands  that  it  mattered  to  me 
— and  then  you  went  away " 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  have  you  make  excuses 
for  me.  I  can  make  none  for  myself.  When  I  look  at 
you,  and  think  of  what  I  ought  to  have  done  when  you 
came  to  Airlie — I  should  have  told  you  there  and  then, 
and  guarded  against  every  possibility — I  feel  that  I  am  an 
outcast.  But  who  would  have  thought  it  possible  ?  "  he 
added,  with  his  eyes  grown  distant  and  sombre.  "I  do 
not  know  how  it  has  all  come  about ;  but  you  and  I  are 
sitting  together  here  for  the  last  time  ;  and  we  are  going 
different  ways — whither,  who  can  tell  ?  " 

With  that  Coquette  rose — no  trace  of  emotion  visible  on 
the  calm  face. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said.  "  I  will  hear  of  you  sometimes 
through  Lady  Drum." 

"  Good-bye,  Coquette,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand.  And 
then  a  strange  expression  came  over  his  face,  and  he  added 
suddenly,  "  It  is  madness  and  wickedness  to  say  it,  but  I 
will  say  it.  Coquette,  you  will  never  forget  that  there  is  a 
man  in  the  world  who  loves  you  better  than  his  own  life — 
who  will  venture  everything  that  remains  to  him  in  this 


COQUETTE  IS  TOLD.  271 

world  and  the  next  to  do  you  the  tiniest  service.  Will  you 
remember  that — always  ?  Good-bye,  Coquette — God  bless 
you  for  your  gentleness,  and  your  sweetness,  and  your 
forgiveness ! " 

She  turned  from  him,  and  walked  away,  and  went  up  the 
steps  towards  the  house,  all  by  herself.  As  she  passed 
through  the  hall,  Lady  Drum  met  her,  and  asked  her  a 
question.  The  girl  replied,  quite  calmly,  though  rather  in 
a  low  voice,  and  passed  on.  Lady  Drum  was  struck  with 
the  expression  of  her  face,  which  was  singularly  colourless 
and  immobile  ;  and  she  looked  after  her  as  she  went  up  the 
stairs.  Was  there  not  something  unsteady  in  her  gait  ? 
The  old  lady  followed  her,  and  went  to  the  door  of  her 
room,  and  listened.  A  great  fear  smote  her  heart,  for 
within  there  was  a  sound  of  wild  weeping  and  sobbing ; 
and  when  she  straightway  opened  the  door,  and  hurried 
into  the  room,  she  found  Coquette  sitting  by  the  bedside, 
her  face  and  hands  buried  in  the  clothes,  and  her  slight 
frame  trembling  and  convulsed  with  the  passion  of  her 
grief. 

"  What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  "  she 
cried,  in  great  alarm. 

And  she  sat  down  by  the  girl,  and  drew  her  towards  her 
bosom,  as  she  would  have  done  with  her  own  child,  and 
hid  her  face  there.    And  then  Coquette  told  her  story. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

coquette's  forebodings. 

Sir  Peter  was  standing  at  the  window,  aimlessly 
whistling,  when  his  wife  came  in  so  hurriedly  that  he  at 
once  turned  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Indeed,  she 
advanced  upon  him  with  such  an  air  that  he  rather  drew 
back,  and  certainly  stopped  his  whistling. 

"  Are  you  a  man  ?  "  she  said,  with  wrath  in  her  voice. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Sir  Peter,  innocently. 

"  Then  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  You  have  to 
go  at  once  to  Lord  Earlshope — I  have  scarcely  the  patience 
to  name  him — and  tell  him  what  every  honest  man  and 


272  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

woman  thinks  of  him — what  it  is  he  deserves  for  conduct 
unworthy  of  an  African  savage " 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  "  Do  you  want  me  to 
commit  murder,  or  what  ?  I  am  not  Macbeth,  and  I  won't 
be  goaded  into  murdering  anybody — " 

It  was  Coquette  who  interposed.  She  had  followed  into 
the  room  immediately  after  Lady  Drum,  and  she  now 
came  up. 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,  Sir  Peter,"  she  said,  with  perfect 
self-command.  "  I  did  tell  Lady  Drum  something — she 
did  not  wait  to  hear  it  all.  Lord  Earlshope  has  done 
nothing  to  be  blamed — it  is  a  misapprehension — a  mistake." 

"  Why,  Lord  Earlshope  is  a  married  man ! "  said  Lady 
Drum,  hotly. 

"  That  may  be  a  crime,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Peter,  mildly  ; 
"  but  it  is  one  that  brings  with  it  its  own  punishment." 

"  Lady  Drum,"  said  Coquette,  in  an  imploring  voice,  "  I 
do  wish  you  to  come  away.  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you. 
Indeed,  have  I  not  the  right  to  say  you  shall  not  tell  any 
one  what  I  have  told  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sir  Peter.  "  Who  wants  to  betray  a 
young  lady's  secrets  ?  Take  her  away,  my  dear  child,  and 
pacify  her  :  I  am  afraid  to  meddle  with  her." 

Lady  Drum  stood  irresolute.  On  the  one  side  was  the 
beseeching  of  Coquette,  on  the  other  was  the  feather-brained 
husband,  who  apparently  would  not  interest  himself  in 
anything  but  his  lunch  and  his  dinner.  Yet  the  brave  old 
Scotchwoman  had  a  glow  of  indignation  burning  in  her 
cheeks,  over  the  wrong  which  she  deemed  to  have  been  com- 
mitted towards  the  girl  intrusted  to  her  charge.  Coquette 
put  her  hand  on  her  arm,  and  gently  led  her  away  from 
the  room. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Sir  Peter  to  them,  as  he  turned  to 
his  drumming  on  the  window-panes,  "  keep  your  secrets  to 
yourselves — they  are  dangerous  property  to  lend.  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  mysteries.     I  am  for  an  easy  life." 

But  Lady  Drum  was  in  no  such  careless  mood ;  and  very 
piteously  Coquette  had  to  beg  of  her  not  to  make  an 
exposure  of  the  matter.  Indeed,  the  girl  besought  her 
so  earnestly  that  Lady  Drum  was  driven  into  warm  lan- 
guage to  defend  herself,  and  at  last  she  used  the  word 


COQUETTE'S  FOREBODINGS.  273 

"infamous."  Then  Coquette  rose  up,  quite  pale  and 
proud,  and  said — ■ 

"  I  am  sorry  you  think  that,  Lady  Drum.  Why  ? 
Because  I  must  go  from  your  house.  If  he  is  infamous,  I 
am  infamous  too,  for  I  do  not  think  he  has  done  any 
wrong." 

"  Not  done  wrong  !  "  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Not  done 
wrong  !  A  married  man  who  trifles  wi'  the  affections  of  a 
young  girl !  " 

"  He  did  not  do  so,"  said  Coquette,  calmly.  "  It  was  a 
misfortune  that  happened  to  us  both — that  is  all.  You  do 
not  know  the  pain  and  misery  it  has  caused  him  ;  nor  his 
other  troubles  ;  nor  how  we  had  determined  not  to  see 
each  other  again.  Ah,  you  do  not  understand  it  at  all,  if 
you  think  he  is  to  blame.  He  is  very  miserable,  that  is 
what  I  know — that  is  enough  for  me  to  know  ;  and  if  he 
has  done  wrong,  I  have  too ;  and  yet,  Lady  Drum,  if  my 
mamma  were  here,  I  would  go  down  on  my  knees  before 
her,  and  I  would  tell  her  all  about  it  from  the  first  day  at 
Airlie,  and  I  do  know  she  would  not  be  angry  with  me  for 
what  I  have  done " 

Coquette  turned  away  her  head.  Lady  Drum  went  to  her 
and  drew  her  nearer  to  her,  and  hid  her  head  in  her  arms. 

"  You  are  very  unfortunate,  my  poor  girl — for  you  are 
fond  of  him  yet,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lady  Drum  !  "  she  cried  wildly,  bursting  into  tears, 
"  I  do  love  him  better  than  everything  in  the  world — and 
I  cannot  help  it — and  now  he  is  gone,  I  shall  never  see  him 
again,  neither  here  nor  at  Airlie,  for  he  will  not  go  back  to 
Airlie — and  all  I  wish  now  is  that  I  might  be  dead,  and 
not  wake  up  morning  after  morning  to  think  of  him  far 
away " 

"  Hush,  child  !  "  said  the  old  woman,  gravely.  "  You  do 
not  know  what  these  wild  words  mean.  You  must  teach 
yourself  not  to  think  of  him.     It  is  a  sin  to  think  of  him." 

"  But  if  I  cannot  help  it,"  sobbed  the  girl ;  "  if  it  always 
comes  back  to  me — all  that  happened  at  Airlie — and  when 
we  were  sailing  in  the  summer  time — how  can  I  help 
thinking  of  him,  Lady  Drum  ?  It  is  hard  enough  if  I  do 
not  see  him — and  I  would  like  to  see  him  only  once,  to  say 
that  I  am  sorry  for  him — and  that,  whatever  people  may 

T 


274  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

say,  I  know,  and  I  will  remember,  that  he  was  a  good  man — 
and  very  gentle  to  me — and  very  kind  to  all  people,  as  you 
know,  Lady  Drum " 

"  You  must  think  less  of  him,  and  more  of  yourself,  my 
girl,"  said  the  old  lady,  kissing  her  tenderly.  "  It  is  a  mis- 
fortune that  has  fallen  ower  ye,  as  you  say  ;  but  you  are 
young  yet,  with  plenty  o'  life  and  spirits  in  ye,  and  ye  must 
determine  to  cure  yourself  o'  an  infatuation  which  is 
dangerous  beyond  speaking  or  thinking.  Coquette,  what 
for  do  ye  look  like  that  ?  Are  ye  in  a  trance  ?  Bestir 
yourself,  my  lassie — listen,  listen,  there  is  your  cousin 
come,  and  he  is  talking  to  Sir  Peter  in  the  hall." 

"  My  cousin  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Coquette  shuddered,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

"  I  cannot  see  him.  Tell  him,  Lady  Drum,  I  go  back  to 
Airlie  to-morrow  ;  and  I  will  see  him  when  he  comes  in  the 
autumn — perhaps." 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  perhaps '  like  that,  Coquette  ?  " 

"  The  autumn  is  a  long  way  off,  is  it  not  ?  Perhaps  he 
will  not  be  able  to  see  me  ;  but  I  shall  be  at  Airlie  then  ; 
and  perhaps  I  shall  know  that  he  has  come  into  the 
churchyard  to  look  for  me." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

A  LEGEND   OF   EAKLSIIOPE. 

It  was  a  wild  night  at  Airlie.  The  sea  could  be  heard 
breaking  with  tremendous  force  all  along  the  shore  ;  and 
the  wind  that  blew  about  the  moor  brought  with  it  occa- 
sional heavy  showers  of  rain.  Occasionally,  too,  there  were 
rifts  in  the  clouds  ;  and  a  white  gleam  of  moonlight  would 
shine  out  and  down  on  the  dark  landscape.  The  villagers 
kept  themselves  snug  and  warm  indoors  ;  and  were  thankful 
they  were  not  out  at  sea  on  such  a  night. 

Earlshope  was  more  sheltered ;  but  if  the  house  itself 
was  not  much  shaken  by  the  storm,  its  inmates  could  hear 
the  moaning  of  the  wind  through  the  trees  in  the  park,  and 
the  howling  of  the  gusts  that  tore  through  the  fir-woods 
beyond  the  moor.     The  male  servants  had  gone  away 


A  LEGEND  OF  EARLSHOPE.  27$ 

on  some  errand  or  another  to  Greenock ;  and  as  the 
women-folk  did  not  like  to  be  left  quite  alone,  the  Pensioner 
had  consented  to  come  up  from  Airlie  and  sleep  in  the 
liou.se  that  night.  But  first  of  all,  of  course,  there  was  a 
general  supper  in  the  housekeeper's  room ;  and  then  the 
Pensioner  and  the  housekeeper  and  the  two  girls  began  to 
tell  stories  of  old  things  that  had  happened  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. By-and-by  that,  duty  almost  entirely  devolved 
upon  the  Pensioner,  who  was  known  to  be  skilled  in 
legends ;  and  as  he  had  also  brought  with  him  his  fiddle, 
he  set  himself  down  generally  to  entertain  the  company, 
fortifying  himself  from  time  to  time  with  a  tumbler  of 
whisky-toddy,  which  the  housekeeper  carefully  replenished. 

Somehow  or  other,  as  the  night  wore  on,  his  stories  and 
his  music  assumed  a  more  and  more  uncanny  and  mystic 
tinge.  Perhaps  the  howling  of  the  wind  in  the  chimneys, 
or  the  more  distant  sound  of  its  wailing  through  the  big 
trees  in  the  park,  lent  an  air  of  melancholy  to  the  old 
ballads  and  legends  he  recited  ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  small 
circle  of  listeners  grew  almost  silent,  and  sat  as  if  spell- 
bound. He  no  longer  played  "  There  grows  a  bonnie  brier 
bush  in  our  kailyard,"  but  sang  to  them,  in  a  quavering  and 
yet  plaintive  voice,  the  story  of  Ellen  of  Strathcoe,  who 
was  rowed  away  over  the  lake  when  the  moon  was  shining 
and  the  breeze  blowing  lightly,  but  who  never  reached  the 
shore.  And  then  the  old  man  came  nearer  to  his  own 
time,  and  told  them  of  the  awful  stories  of  second-sight 
that  he  had  heard  when  a  boy,  over  among  the  Cowai  hills 
— of  warnings  coming  at  the  dead  of  the  night — of  voices 
heard  in  churchyards — of  visions  seen  by  persons  in  their 
own  houses,  as  they  sat  alone  in  the  evening.  The  girls 
listened  partly  to  him,  and  partly  to  the  wind  without. 
The  great  house  seemed  to  be  even  more  empty  than  usual ; 
and  the  creaking  of  a  door  or  the  shaking  of  a  window 
could  be  heard  in  distant  rooms.  Earlshope  was  a  lonely 
place  at  that  time  of  night — so  far  away  from  all  houses, 
and  so  near  to  the  wild  moor. 

"  But  there  is  no  story  about  Earlshope,"  said  one  of  the 
girls. 

She  spoke  in  a  quite  timid  voice  ;  as  if  she  were  listening 
to  the  sounds  without. 

T  2 


276  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Wass  you  never  told,  then,  o'  sa  auld  man  that  lived 
here  by  himsel',  and  would  ride  about  sa  country  at  night, 
and  drink  by  himsel'  in  such  a  faishion  as  no  man  leevin' 
would  pelieve  ?  " 

They  did  not  answer  him  :  they  only  looked — their  eyes 
grown  apprehensive. 

"  It  wass  an  auld  Lord  Earlshope,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  and 
he  wass  a  wild  man  for  sa  drink  ;  and  no  one  in  all  sa 
country  side  would  go  near  him.  Sa  bairns  would  flee  from 
him  as  he  came  riding  down  sa  road,  and  he  would  ride  at 
them,  and  frichten  them,  and  gallop  on  wi'  shrieks  o' 
laughin',  just  as  if  he  wass  sa  teffle  himsel'.  And  he  would 
ride  about  sa  country  at  nicht,  and  knock  at  folk's  doors  or 
windows  wi'  his  stick,  and  cry  in  till  them,  and  then  ride 
on  again,  wi'  fearfu'  laughin'  and  singin',  just  as  if  he  wass 
possessed.  And  sare  wass  a  girl  in  Airlie — a  bonnie  young- 
lass  she  wass,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  and  he  did  sweer  on  a 
Bible  wis  sa  most  dreadfu'  sweerin',  he  would  carry  her 
some  nicht  to  Earlshope,  or  else  set  sa  house  on  fire  over 
herself  and  her  folk.  And  sa  lass — she  was  so  frichtened 
she  would  never  go  outside  sa  house  ;  and  it  wass  said  she 
wass  to  go  to  Greenock  or  to  Glasgow  into  service — if  sare 
was  service  then,  for  it  wass  a  long  time  ago." 

The  Pensioner  here  bethought  him  of  his  toddy,  and 
turned  to  his  glass.  During  that  brief  pause  there  was  a 
dead  silence — only  some  laurel  bushes  rustled  outside  in  the 
wind.   The  Pensioner  cleared  his  throat  and  resumed  his  tale. 

"  And  Lord  Earlshope,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  did  hear  sat 
she  would  go  away  from  Airlie,  and  he  was  in  a  great  rage, 
and  swore  sat  he  would  burn  sa  whole  place  down,  and  her 
too,  and  all  her  folk.  But  one  day  it  wass  known  to  him 
sat  her  parents  would  be  over  in  Saltcoats  ;  and  he  had  men 
sare,  and  sa  men  got  hold  of  sa  lassie's  folk,  and  clapped 
them  into  a  big  boat,  and  took  sem  out  to  sea.  And  sa  young 
lass  waited  all  sa  afternoon,  and  say  did  not  come  home  ; 
nor  yet  at  nicht,  and  she  was  all  by  herself,  for  she  wass 
afraid  to  go  out  and  speer  at  sa  neighbours.  And  then,  as 
I  hef  peen  told,  he  went  to  sa  house  at  sa  dead  o'  nicht, 
and  pulled  sa  lassie  out,  and  took  her  on  sa  horse,  and  rode 
over  wi'  her  to  Earlshope — her  screamin',  him  laughin'  and 
sweerin',  as  wass  his  ordinar'.     And  so  wild  wass  he  wis  sa 


A  LEGEND  OF  EARLSHOPE.  277 

drink,  sat  he  ordered  all  sa  servants  out  0'  sa  house,  and  sey 
listened  frae  the  outside  to  sa  awful  noises  in  sa  rooms — ■ 
him  rag-in'  and  sweerin',  and  laughin',  jist  like  sa  teffle. 
And  then,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  a  licht  was  seen — and  it  grew 
— and  it  grew — and  flames  wass  in  all  sa  windows — and 
sare  was  a  roarin',  and  a  noise,  and  a  burnin' — and  when 
the  mornin'  wass  come,  Earlshope  wass  burned  down  to  sa 
ground,  and  nothing  could  be  seen  0'  sa  young  lass  or  sa 
auld  man  either." 

The  Pensioner  took  another  pull  at  the  tumbler.  It  was 
getting  more  and  more  late. 

"  And  this,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  is  a  new  Earlshope ;  but  sa 
auld  man  hass  never  gone  away  from  sa  place.  He  is  still 
about  here  in  sa  night-time.  I  do  not  know  he  hass  been 
seen ;  but  many's  and  many's  sa  time  he  wass  heard  to 
laugh  in  among  the  trees  in  the  park,  and  you  will  hear 
sometimes  the  sound  of  sa  horse's  feet  not  far  from  sa  house. 
Trop,  trop  ! — trop,  trop  ! — sat  is  it — licht,  licht — and  you 
will  not  know  whesser  it  is  close  by,  or  far  away,  only  you 
will  hear  sa  laughin'  close  by,  as  if  it  wass  at  your  ear." 

Suddenly  at  this  moment  a  string  of  the  Pensioner's  fiddle 
snapped  with  a  loud  bang,  and  there  was  a  simultaneous 
shriek  from  the  women.  In  the  strange  pause  that  followed, 
when  they  all  listened  with  a  beating  heart,  it  seemed  to 
them  that  at  some  distance  outside  there  was  a  measured 
beat  on  the  soft  earth,  exactly  like  the  sound  of  a  horse 
riding  up  to  Earlshope.  A  miuute  or  two  more  and  the 
suspicion  became  a  certainty. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  one  of  the  girls,  instinctively  seizing  hold 
of  her  neighbour's  arm.  The  wind  was  still  moaning 
through  the  trees,  but  none  the  less  the  footfalls  of  the 
horse  became  more  and  more  distinct,  and  were  obviously 
drawing  near  to  the  house. 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  exclaimed  the  housekeeper,  with  a  scared 
face.     "  AY"  ha  can  it  be  at  this  time  0'  nicht  ?  " 

"  It  is  coining  nearer,"  said  another. 

"  Jeannie  ! "  cried  the  third,  in  a  frenzy  of  desperation, 
"dinna  hand  me  by  the  airm — a  body  canna  listen  !  " 

The  measured  sounds  grew  nearer,  until  they  ceased, 
apparently,  at  the  very  door.  Then  there  was  the  sharp 
clink  of  the  bell-handle  on  the  stone,  and  far  away  in  a 


278  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

hollow  corridor  a  boll  jangled  hideously.  The  housekeeper 
uttered  a  cry  and  started  to  her  feet. 

"  Gude  forgi'e  me,  but  there's  no  a  Bible  near  at  hand  !  " 
she  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  trepidation.  "  Mr.  Lamont, 
Mr.  Lamont,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  This  is  fearfu' — this  is 
awfu' !     Jeannie,  what  for  do  ye  no  open  the  door  ?  " 

"  Open  the  door  ?  "  said  the  girl,  faintly,  with  her  eyes 
starting  out  of  her  head. 

"  Ay,  open  the  door ! "  said  the  housekeeper  savagely. 
"  Isn't  it  your  business  ?  " 

"  But — but — but — "  stammered  the  girl,  with  her  teeth 
chattering,  "  n — no  to  open  the  door  to  the  deevil !  " 

"  I  will  open  sa  door  !  "  said  the  Pensioner,  calmly. 

When  he  rose  and  went  into  the  dark  hall  the  women 
followed  close  at  his  heels,  all  clinging  to  each  other. 
Another  vigorous  pull  at  the  bell  had  nearly  brought  them 
to  their  knees ;  but  Neil  Lamont,  groping  his  way  to  the 
door,  began  to  fumble  about  for  the  bolts,  using  much  florid 
and  unnecessary  Gaelic  all  the  while.  At  last  the  bolts  were 
withdrawn,  and  the  door  opened.  On  the  threshold  stood 
the  dusky  figure  of  a  man ;  beyond  him  the  horse  from 
which  he  had  dismounted,  and  which  he  held  by  the  bridle. 
The  women  shrank  back  in  affright — one  of  them  uttering  a 
piercing  scream.  The  Pensioner  stood  for  a  moment  ir- 
resolute, and  then  he  advanced  a  step,  and  said,  with  a  fine 
assumption  of  courage — 

"  "Who  sa  teffle  are  you,  and  what  for  you  will  come  to 
disturb  a  quiet  house  ?     What  is  it  sat  you  want  ?  " 

"  Confound  you,  send  somebody  to  take  my  horse  !  "  was 
the  sharp  reply  he  met  with  from  the  mysterious  stranger. 
"What's  the  matter  ?  Is  there  no  one  about  the  place  but  a 
pack  of  frightened  women  ?  " 

"  It  is  his  lordship  himsel' !  "  cried  Neil.  "  Eh,  wha  did 
expect  to  see  you  sa  nicht  ?  " 

"  Come  and  take  my  horse,  you  fool !  " 

"  Sat  I  will ;  but  it  is  no  use  calling  names,"  answered 
Neil,  while  the  women  began  to  breathe. 

The  Pensioner  got  the  keys  of  the  stable,  and  led  off  the 
horse,  while  Lord  Earlshope  entered  the  hall,  called  for 
lights,  and  began  to  rub  the  rain  out  of  his  eyes  and  hair. 
The  whole  house  was  presently  in  a  scurry  to  have  his 


A  LEGEND  OF  EARLSHOPE.  279 

lordship's  wants  attended  to ;  but  there  was  considerable 
delay,  for  none  of  the  women  would  go  singly  on  the  shortest 
errand.  When,  after  some  time,  Neil  returned  from  feeding 
and  grooming  the  horse  in  a  rough-and-ready  fashion,  he 
infused  some  little  courage  into  the  household ;  and  at 
length  the  turmoil  caused  by  the  unexpected  arrival  subsided 
somewhat.  Finally,  Lord  Earlshope  called  the  housekeeper 
into  his  study  and  said  to  her — 

"I  shall  leave  early  to-morrow  morning.  There  have 
been  no  visitors  at  Earlshope  recently  ?  " 

"  No,  your  lordship." 

"It  is  very  likely  that  a  woman — a  Mrs.  Smith  Arnold 
she  calls  herself — will  come  here  to-morrow  and  ask  to  be 
shown  over  the  place.  You  will  on  no  account  allow  her  to 
come  into  the  house, — you  understand  ?  " 

"  But  wha  can  come  here  the  morn  ? "  said  the  house- 
keeper ;  "  it's  the  Sabbath." 

"  This  person  may  drive  here.  In  any  case,  you  will 
allow  no  stranger  to  come  into  the  place." 

"  I  wish  the  men  folk  were  coming  back  afore  Monday," 
said  the  housekeeper,  who  was  still  a  trifle  perturbed  by  the 
Pensioner's  stories. 

"  Cannot  three  of  you  keep  one  woman  from  coming  into 
the  house  ?  You  can  lock  the  doors — you  need  not  even 
talk  to  her." 

Having  received  her  instructions,  the  housekeeper  left ; 
and  Lord  Earlshope  went  to  a  writing-desk,  and  addressed 
an  envelope  to  a  firm  of  solicitors  in  London.  The  words 
he  then  hurriedly  wrote  and  enclosed  in  the  envelope  were 
merely  these — "  Withhold  payment  to  Mrs.  Smith  Arnold,  if 
demanded.  The  stipulations  have  not  been  observed.  I  will 
call  on  you  in  a  few  days. — Earlshope." 

It  was  close  on  midnight  when  he  entered  the  house ; 
and  shortly  after  daybreak  next  morning  he  had  again  set 
out,  telling  no  one  of  his  intentions.  The  servants,  ac- 
customed to  his  abrupt  comings  and  goings,  were  not 
surprised ;  but  none  of  them  forgot  the  manner  in  which 
Lord  Earlshope  had  ridden  up  at  midnight  in  the  fashion 
of  his  notorious  ancestor.  As  for  the  housekeeper,  she  was 
more  consequential  than  ever,  having  been  intrusted  with  a 
secret. 


28o  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTEE    XLVL 

THE  MINISTER'S  PUBLISHER. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Lord  Earlshope 
paid  this  sudden  visit  to  Airlie,  the  Minister  came  down 
into  the  parlour  of  the  Manse,  where  Leezibeth  was  placing 
the  breakfast  things. 

"  Miss  Cassilis  is  coming  home  to-day,"  he  said. 

"Atweel,  I'm  glad  to  hear't,"  said  Leezibeth,  uttering 
that  peculiar  sigh  of  resignation  with  which  most  elderly 
Scotchwomen  receive  good  news. 

The  boys  were  all  rejoiced  to  hear  that  Coquette  was 
coming ;  for  they  had  not  forgotten  the  presents  she  had 
promised  them  ;  and  they  knew  from  of  old  that  she  was 
as  little  likely  to  forget.  This  being  Saturday,  and  a  wet 
Saturday,  too,  they  unanimously  resolved  to  stay  at  home, 
and  play  at  "  bools  "  in  the  lobby  until  Coquette  should 
arrive  from  Glasgow.  But  the  restraint  of  this  form  of 
amusement  became  insufferable.  Leezibeth's  remonstrances 
about  their  noise — the  Minister  being  then  engaged  with 
his  sermon — at  last  drove  them  out  of  the  house  and  up 
into  the  hay-loft,  where  they  had  unlimited  freedom  of 
action  and  voice. 

When  Leezibeth  delivered  to  Andrew  the  necessary  orders 
about  the  dog-cart  it  was  in  a  somewhat  defiant  way— she 
knew  he  would  not  regard  very  favourably  the  return  of 
the  young  lady.  But  Andrew  kept  most  of  his  grumbling 
to  himself  ;  and  Leezibeth  only  overheard  the  single  word 
*  Jezebel !  " 

"  Jezebel ! "  she  cried,  in  a  sudden  flame  of  anger. 
"  Wha  is  Jezebel  ?  Better  Jezebel  than  Shimei  the 
Benjamite,  that  will  be  kenned  for  ever  by  his  ill-temper 
and  his  ill-tongue." 

Leezibeth  stood  there,  as  if  daring  him  to  say  another 
word.  Andrew  was  a  prudent  man.  He  began  to  tie  his 
shoe,  and  as  he  stooped  he  only  muttered — 

"  H'm  !  If  Shimei  had  had  a  woman's  tongue,  David 
micht  hae  suffered  waur.     And  it's  an  ill  time  come  to  us 


THE  MINISTER'S  PUBLISHER.  281 

if  we  are  a'  to  bend  the  knee  to  this  foreign  woman,  that 
can  scarcely  be  spoken  o'  withoot  offence.  Better  for  us 
a'  if  the  Minister's  brither  had  been  even  like  Coniah, 
the  son  of  Jehoiakim.  As  it  was  said  o'  him,  '  I  will  cast 
thee  out,  and  thy  mother  that  bare  thee,  into  another 
country,  where  ye  were  not  born,  and  there  shall  ye  die. 
But  to  the  land  whereunto  they  desire  to  return,  thither 
shall  they  not  return.'  " 

"  Od,  I  wish  Maister  Tammas  could  hear  ye  ! "  said 
Leezibeth,  in  desperation  at  being  out-talked. 

"  Ay,  ay,  Maister  Tammas ;  it  was  an  ill  day  for  him 
that  she  came  to  the  Manse.  Mark  my  words,  the  Minister 
'11  repent  him  o't  when  he  sees  his  auldest  son  a  wreck  and 
a  ruin,  and  a  by-word  i'  the  country-side.  Ay,  indeed  : 
when  the  young  man  turns  away  from  his  ain  folk, 
Leezibeth,  to  marry  ane  0'  the  daughters  0'  Heth." 

"  What  for  no  ?  "  cried  Leezibeth,  boldly.  "  Where  could 
he  wale  out  a  bonnier  lass  ?  I  wish  ye'd  stop  yer  yaumering, 
and  look  oot  some  plaids  and  rugs  for  the  dog-cairt,  for 
there's  wind  and  rain  enough  to  last  us  for  the  rest  0'  the 
year." 

A  very  surly  man  was  Andrew  Bogue  when  he  set  out  at 
mid-day  to  drive  over  to  the  station.  He  was  enveloped  so 
that  only  the  tip  of  his  nose  could  be  seen ;  for  the  wind 
was  dashing  heavy  showers  over  the  moor,  and  the  sea  was 
white  with  the  breaking  of  the  great  waves.  It  was  not  a 
day  to  improve  a  man's  temper ;  and  when,  at  last, 
Coquette  arrived,  Andrew  was  not  the  most  pleasant  person 
to  bid  her  welcome. 

Coquette  was  alone.  Sir  Peter  was  for  accompanying 
her  on  the  brief  railway  journey ;  but  she  would  not  hear 
of  it,  as  she  knew  that  the  dog-cart  would  await  her 
arrival.  Coquette  came  out  into  the  little  station.  She 
asked  Andrew  to  get  her  luggage  ;  and  while  he  was  gone 
she  turned  and  looked  up  to  the  high  country  beyond 
which  Airlie  lay.  How  dismal  it  looked!  The  wind  was 
moving  heavy  masses  of  dull  grey  cloud  across  the  sky  ; 
and  between  her  and  the  gloomy  landscape  hovered  the 
mist  of  the  rain,  underneath  which  the  trees  drooped,  and 
the  roads  ran  red.  She  had  no  view  of  the  sea ;  but  the 
plain  of  tumbling  waves  would  not  have  brightened  the 


282  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

prospect  much.  And  so  at  last  she  took  her  seat  on  the 
dog-cart ;  and  hid  herself  in  thick  shawls  and  rugs  ;  and 
was  driven  away  through  the  dripping  and  desolate  country. 
It  was  so  different  from  her  first  coming  hither  ! 

"  They  are  all  well  at  Airlie  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Weel  aneuch,"  said  Andrew  ;  and  that  was  all  the  con- 
versation which  passed  between  them  on  the  journey. 

They  drew  near  Earlshope,  and  Coquette  saw  the 
entrance  to  the  park,  and  the  great  trees  hanging  wearily 
in  the  rain.  There  was  the  strip  of  fir-wood,  too,  near 
which  she  had  parted  with  Lord  Earlshope  but  a  short  time 
ago,  on  that  pleasant  summer  morning.  The  place  looked 
familiar,  and  yet  imfamiliar.  The  firs  were  almost  black 
under  the  heavy  sky  ;  and  there  was  no  living  creature 
abroad  to  temper  the  loneliness  of  the  moor  which 
stretched  beyond.  It  seemed  to  Coquette  that  she  was  now 
coming  back  to  a  prison,  in  which  she  must  spend  the  rest 
of  her  life.  Hitherto  all  had  been  uncertainty  as  to  her 
future,  and  she  had  surrendered  herself  to  the  new  and 
sweet  experiences  of  the  moment  with  scarcely  a  thought. 
But  now  all  the  past  had  been  shut  up  as  if  it  were  a  sealed 
book,  and  there  remained  to  her — what  ?  Coquette  began 
to  think  that  she  had  seen  the  best  of  life  ;  and  that  she 
would  soon  feel  old. 

She  went  into  the  Manse.  It  did  not  look  a  cheerful 
place  just  then.  Outside,  damp  and  cold  ;  inside,  the  wind 
had  blown  the  smoke  down  one  of  the  chimneys,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  house  was  a  dull  blue.  But  Leezibeth 
came  running  to  meet  her  ;  and  overwhelmed  her  with 
fussy  kindness  about  her  wet  garments ;  and  hurried  her 
upstairs  ;  and  provided  her  with  warm  slippers,  and  what 
not ;  until  Coquette — who  had  abandoned  herself  into  her 
hands — became  aware  that  she  was  ungratefully  silent  about 
those  little  attentions. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Leesiebess,"  she  said. 

"  'Deed  no,  I'm  fair  delighted  to  see  ye  back,  miss,"  said 
Leezibeth,  "  for  the  Manse  has  been  like  a  kirkyaird  since 
the  day  ye  left  it.  The  Minister  has  been  shut  up  in  the 
study  from  mornin'  till  nicht ;  the  laddies  at  the  schule  ; 
and  that  cantankerous  auld  Andrew  grumbling  until  a  body's 
life  was  like  to  be  worried  out.    And  I'm  thinking  Glasgow 


THE  MINIS  TER  *S  P  UB  LIS  HER.  283 

doesna  agree  wi1  ye,  miss.  Ye  are  looking  a  wee  bit  worn 
and  pale  ;  but  running  about  the  moor  will  soon  set  ye  up 
again." 

"It  is  not  pleasant  to  go  on  the  moor  now,"  said 
Coquette,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  window  on  the  dreary 
prospect. 

"  But  it  canna  be  aye  rainin' — though  it  seems  to  try 
sometimes,"  said  Leezibeth.  "  I  wish  it  had  been  ordained 
that  we  should  get  nae  mair  weet  than  the  farmers  want — 
it  is  just  a  wastery  o'  the  elements  to  hae  rain  pourin'  down 
like  that." 

Then  Coquette  began  to  inquire  why  her  uncle  had  not  yet 
come  to  see  her  ;  and  Leezibeth  explained  that  the  Minister 
v.  as  fairly  buried  alive  in  his  books  ever  since  he  had  began 
seriously  to  work  at  his  Concordance.  So  she  ran  down- 
stairs, and  went  into  the  study,  and  went  up  to  him  and 
dutifully  kissed  him. 

The  Minister  looked  up  with  dazed  eyes,  and  a  pleased 
look  came  into  the  sad  grey  face. 

"  You  have  come  back,  my  bairn  ?  And  you  are  well  ? 
And  you  have  enjoyed  yourself  in  Glasgow  ?  " 

He  failed  to  notice  the  somewhat  tired  air  that  had  not 
escaped  Leezibeth's  keen  scrutiny. 

"  You  have  been  hard  at  work,  uncle,  I  can  see  ;  and  I 
am  come  back  to  interrupt  it." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  the  Minister,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Because  I  cannot  let  you  kill  yourself  with  your  books. 
When  the  weather  does  become  fine  again,  you  will  go  out 
with  me,  and  leave  your  books  alone  for  a  time." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  sheets  before 
him.  "  I  have  purposed  having  this  work  finished  by  the 
end  o'  the  year,  so  that,  if  I  am  spared  and  in  health,  I 
might  even  undertake  another  with  the  incoming  o'  the 
new  year.  But  sometimes  I  fear  my  labour  will  be  thrown 
away.  I  am  not  familiar  wi'  the  booksellers  and  such 
persons  as  undertake  to  bring  out  new  works.  The 
expense  of  it  woidd  be  far  too  great  for  my  own  means,  and 
yet  I  do  not  know  how  to  recommend  it  to  the  notice  of 
those  whose  business  it  is  to  embark  money  in  such 
enterprises.  I  do  not  desire  any  profit  or  proceeds  from 
the  sale  of  the  book,  but  I  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted 


2S4  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

with  such  things  to  know  whether  that  will  be  an  induce- 
ment. The  cost  of  bringing  out  such  a  work  must  be 
great — -Mr.  Gillespie,  the  schoolmaster,  did  even  mention 
so  large  a  sum  as  one  hundred  pounds,  but  I  am  afraid  not 
with  sufficient  caution  or  knowledge." 

Coquette  knelt  down  beside  the  old  man,  and  took  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  a  great 
favour." 

"  And  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  you  must  promise  first." 

"  It  is  impossible — it  is  contrary  to  the  teaching  of 
Scripture  to  promise  what  it  may  be  impossible  to  perform," 
said  the  Minister,  who  was  perhaps  vaguely  influenced  by 
the  story  of  the  daughter  of  Herodias. 

"  Ah,  well,  it  does  not  matter.  Uncle,  I  want  you  to  let 
me  be  your  publisher." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Catherine  ?  " 

"Let  me  publish  your  book  for  you.  You  know  my 
papa  did  leave  me  some  money  ;  it  is  useless  to  me  ;  I  do 
nothing  with  it ;  it  becomes  more  and  more  every  year, 
and  does  nothing  for  anybody.  This  would  be  an  amuse- 
ment for  me.  I  will  take  your  book,  uncle  ;  and  you  shall 
have  no  more  of  bother  with  it ;  and  I  will  get  it  printed  ; 
and  my  Cousin  Tom — he  will  send  me  word  how  the 
people  do  buy  it  in  Glasgow." 

"  But — but — but —  "  stammered  the  Minister,  who  could 
scarcely  understand  at  first  this  astounding  proposal,  "  my 
child,  this  generosity  you  propose  might  entail  serious  loss, 
which  I  should  feel  more  than  if  it  were  my  own.  It  is  a 
grave  matter,  this  publishing  of  a  book — it  is  one  that 
young  people  cannot  understand,  and  is  not  lightly  to  be 
undertaken.  We  will  put  aside  this  offer  of  yours, 
Catherine " 

"  No,  uncle,  you  must  not,"  she  said,  gently,  as  she  rose 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  And  then  she  drooped 
her  head  somewhat,  as  if  in  shame,  and  said  to  him  in  a 
low  voice,  quite  close  to  his  ear  :  "  If  my  mamma  were  here, 
she  would  do  it  for  you,  uncle,  and  so  you  must  let  me." 

And  then  she  kissed  him  again,  and  went  away  to  call 
the  boys,  who  were  rather  anxiously  awaiting  that  summons. 


THE  MINISTER'S  PUBLISHER.  285 

They  were  taken  up  to  her  sitting-room,  and  thither  also 
came  Leezibeth,  partly  to  preserve  order,  and  partly  to 
open  one  of  Coquette's  boxes,  which  was  placed  on  a  side- 
table.  Coquette,  by  this  time,  had  plucked  up  her  spirits 
a  little  bit.  The  tire  was  burning  more  brightly  in  the 
room  ;  and  Leezibeth  had  prepared  some  tea  for  her.  And 
so,  when  this  box  was  finally  opened,  she  proceeded  to 
display  its  contents  in  the  fashion  of  a  small  show-woman  ; 
delivering  a  grave  lecture  to  the  circle  of  boys,  who  looked 
on  as  hungry-eyed  as  hawks.  That  decorum  did  not  last 
long.  In  a  very  little  while  there  was  a  turmoil  in  the 
room,  and  boyish  shrieks  of  laughter  over  Coquette's 
ironical  jokes  went  pealing  all  over  the  house.  For  she 
had  brought  this  for  that  cousin,  and  that  for  the  other 
one  ;  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  blushing,  of  confused 
thanks,  and  of  outrageous  merriment.  Coquette  seemed 
to  have  purchased  an  inexhaustible  store  of  presents ; 
and  what  astonished  them  more  than  all  was  the  ex- 
ceeding appropriateness  and  exceptional  value  of  those 
gifts. 

"  Look  here,  Coquette,"  said  Dugald,  "  who  told  you 
I  lost  that  knife  with  the  corkscrew  and  the  gimlet  and 
the  hie  in  it — for  this  ane  is  jist  the  same  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Dugald,"  remarked  the  young  lady,  standing 
before  him.  "  Will  you  please  to  tell  me  how  you  addressed 
me  just  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Dugald,  boldly,  "  the  Whaup  never  called 
ye  anything  else,  and  ye  seemed  well  enough  pleased." 

Here  there  was  some  covert  laughter  at  Coquette's 
expense  ;  for  these  young  gentlemen  had  formed  their  own 
notion  of  the  relations  between  their  brother  and  Coquette. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  when  you  are  as  tall  as  the  Whaup, 
and  as  respectful  to  me  as  he  is,  you  may  call  me  Coquette  ; 
but  not  till  then,  Master  Dugald." 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  noise,  a  sudden  lull  occurred. 
Coquette  turned  and  saw  the  tall,  spare  figure  of  her  uncle 
at  the  half-opened  door,  where  he  had  been  for  some  time 
an  unperceived  and  amused  spectator  of  the  proceedings. 
One  or  two  of  the  boys  had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  had 
instantly  curbed  their  wild  merriment.  But  even  although 
this  was  Saturday,  it  was  clear  the  Minister  was  not  in  an 


286  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

impatient  mood  with  their  uproar.  On  the  contrary,  he 
walked  into  the  room,  and  over  to  Coquette,  and  put  his 
hand  affectionately  on  her  head. 

"  You  are  a  very  good  girl,  Catherine,"  he  said. 

The  boys  looked  on  this  demonstration  of  kindliness  with 
the  utmost  surprise.  Seldom,  indeed,  had  they  seen  their 
father  forget  that  rigour  of  demeanour  which  the  people  in 
many  parts  of  Scotland  retain  as  the  legacy  of  Puritanical 
reticence  in  all  matters  of  the  feelings  and  emotions.  And 
then  the  compliment  he  paid  to  her  ! 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  being  troubled  by  those  unruly  boys, 
who  have  much  to  learn  in  manners,"  said  the  Minister,  with 
a  tranquil  gravity.  "  But  Leezibeth  must  see  to  that ; 
and  so,  since  you  are  come  home,  Catherine,  I  begin  to 
think  I  should  like  to  hear  the  sound  of  music  again.  I 
think  the  Manse  has  not  been  quite  so  cheerful  since  you 
left,  somehow ;  and  I  have  missed  you  much  in  the 
evenings.  As  for  music,  I  have  had  occasion  lately  to 
notice  how  much  King  David  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking 
of  it,  and  of  musical  instruments,  and  the  singing  of  the 
voice.  Perhaps  we  in  this  country  have  an  unwarrantable 
prejudice  against  music — an  exercise  that  we  know  the 
chosen  people  of  the  Lord  prized  highly." 

It  was  now  Leezibeth's  turn  to  be  astonished.  To  hear 
the  Minister  ask  for  music  on  a  Saturday — the  day  of  his 
studying  the  sermon  ;  and  to  hear  him  disagree  with  the 
estimation  in  which  that  godless  pastime  was  held  by  all 
decent,  sober-minded,  responsible  folk,  were  matters  for 
deep  reflection  to  her,  and  not  a  little  surprise  and  pain. 
Yet  in  her  secret  heart  she  was  not  sorry  that  Coquette  sat 
down  to  the  piano.  Had  she  dared,  she  would  have  asked 
her  to  sing  one  of  the  old  Scotch  songs  that  had  first  drawn 
her  towards  the  young  French  girl. 

But  Coquette,  also  remembering  that  it  was  Saturday, 
began  to  play  "  Drumclog  ;  "  and  the  beating  of  the  wind 
and  rain  without  was  soon  lost  in  the  solemn  and  stately 
harmonies  of  that  fine  old  air.  And  then,  as  in  days  gone 
by,  she  played  it  sharply  and  triumphantly  ;  and  a  thrill 
went  through  the  Minister's  heart.  He  drew  his  chair 
nearer  to  the  piano  ;  and  heard  the  close  of  the  brief  per- 
formance with  a  sigh. 


THE  MINISTER'S  PUBLISHER.  287 

"  Catherine,"  he  said,  rather  absently,  "  was  there  not  a 
song  you  used  to  sing  about  returning  to  your  home  after 
being  away  from  it  for  a  time  ?  It  was  a  French  song,  I 
think  ;  and  yet  the  music  of  it  seemed  to  me  praise- 
worthy." 

"  1  do  know  that  song,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  But — but — I  cannot  sing  it  any  more." 

The  Minister  did  not  notice  the  distress  that  was  visible 
on  her  face. 

"  Yet  perhaps  you  remember  the  music  sufficiently  to 
play  it  on  the  instrument  without  the  help  of  the  voice," 
said  the  grey -haired  old  man — apparently  forgetting  alto- 
gether that  the  boys  were  in  the  room,  and  Leezibeth  at  the 
door. 

Coquette  began  to  play  the  air.  It  was  the  song  that 
told  of  the  happy  return  to  France  after  three  long  years  of 
absence.  She  had  returned  to  her  home,  it  is  true — leaving 
behind  her  many  wild,  and  sad,  and  beautiful  memories  ; 
and  now  that  she  was  back  at  Airlie,  it  seemed  as  though 
the  desolate  wind  and  rain  outside  were  but  typical  of  the  life 
that  awaited  her  here.  Coquette  played  the  air  as  if  she 
were  in  a  dream  ;  and,  at  last,  her  cousin  Dugald,  standing 
at  the  end  of  the  piano,  was  surprised  to  see  her  face  get 
more  and  more  bent  down,  and  her  fingering  of  the  keys 
more  and  more  uncertain. 

•"  What  for  are  ye  greetin'  ?  "  he  said  to  her,  gently  ;  but 
Coquette  could  make  no  answer. 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

AN    APPARITION. 

Coquette  had  never  got  accustomed  to  the  depressing 
Btillness  and  gloom  of  the  Sabbath  as  it  was  kept  at  Airlie  ; 
and  on  this,  the  first  morning  of  what  seemed  to  be  the 
beginning  of  a  new  era  of  her  life,  she  almost  feared  what 
she  would  have  to  encounter.  She  dreaded  the  death-like 
silence  of  the  neighbourhood  ;  the  sombre  procession  of  the 
people  to  church  ;  the  sharp,  imperative  jangle  of  the  bell ; 
and  then  the  long,  drowsy,  monotonous  day  spent  indoors, 
with  the  melancholy  sound  of  Leezibeth  reading  aloud  to 


288  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

herself  in  the  kitchen.  Once,  as  she  lay  ill,  she  talked  to 
Leezibeth  about  the  pleasant  Sundays  she  had  learnt  to  love 
in  her  youth — the  cheerful  gathering  of  friends  and 
acquaintances  at  the  small  church  in  the  early  morning — 
the  mysterious  music — the  solemn  lights  in  the  recesses  of 
the  building  :  then  out  into  the  clear  air  again,  and  home 
to  meet  all  manner  of  relatives  and  friends  who  had  come 
to  spend  a  quiet  holiday.  Against  all  this,  Leezibeth 
naturally  protested  strongly  ;  and  even  warmed  into  poetic 
language,  as  elderly  Scotchwomen  will,  who  have  been 
familiar  all  their  life  with  the  picturesque  phraseology  of 
the  Bible. 

"  It  is  the  day  set  apart,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  the  day  of 
the  Lord  ;  and  He  walks  about  on  that  day,  and  looks  on 
what  He  has  made,  as  it  was  efter  a  new  creation." 

"  And  are  you  afraid  of  Him,"  said  Coquette,  as  she  lay 
half -dreaming  on  the  sofa  ;  "  are  you  afraid  of  Him,  that 
you  all  keep  indoors  on  that  day,  and  scarce  speak  to  each 
other,  and  let  no  sound  be  heard  ?  " 

On  this  particular  morning  the  whole  world  was  steeped 
in  gloom.  The  storm  had  so  far  abated  that  the  trees 
no  longer  bent  before  the  wind,  and  there  was  no  rain ; 
but  overhead  and  stretching  far  to  the  horizon  was 
a  pall  of  thick,  lurid,  steel-blue  cloud ;  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Arran  threw  sombre  shadows  deep  down  into  the 
cold  grey  of  the  sea.  The  fir  woods  near  at  hand  seemed 
almost  black  ;  those  on  the  slopes  going  southward  lay  as  a 
series  of  dusky  and  indistinguishable  patches  on  the  misty 
greys  and  greens  of  the  landscape.  The  road  going  across 
the  moor  had  been  washed  red  ;  and  the  rapid  and  drumly 
stream  had  overflown  its  narrow  banks. 

The  boys  were  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  and  were  secretly 
caressing  in  their  pockets  daring  the  time  of  family  worship 
the  presents  Coquette  had  brought  them  from  Glasgow. 
Leezibeth  was  particular  that  Coquette  should  put  on  thick 
boots,  as  the  roads  were  so  wet ;  and  by-and-by,  after  much 
hurrying,  and  whispering,  and  admonition,  they  all  set  out 
for  church. 

It  was  a  cheerless  day,  cold  and  damp ;  and  the  wind 
had  a  raw  feeling  about  it.  The  cracked  bell  of  the  old 
church  was  pealing  out  its  summons,  and  up  from  Airlie 


AN  APPA  RITION.  2S9 

came  the  struggling  and  solemn  procession  of  people, 
seemingly  afraid  to  speak  to  each  other,  nearly  all  of  them 
dressed  in  stiff  and  ungainly  black  garments.  Fortunately 
for  Coquette,  she  was  overtaken  by  an  old  friend  of  hers  ; 
and  she  welcomed  him  gladly  ;  for  she  knew  that  he  would 
talk  to  her  even  to  the  church  door.     It  was  the  Pensioner. 

"  And  I  wass  told  you  would  pe  pack,  Miss  Cassilis,"  said 
Neil,  "  and  richt  glad  was  I  to  hear't ;  and  how  is  that  you 
will  like  Glasgow  ?  " 

"  I  did  like  it  very  much,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Oh,  it  is  sa  grand  place — but  you  will  need  to  know 
where  to  go  for  sa  goot  whisky  before  you  will  go  to 
Glasgow." 

Coquette  hinted  that  she  had  not  discovered  the  pet 
public-house  that  Neil  evidently  had  in  his  mind's  eye ; 
whereupon  the  old  Highlandman  was  profuse  and  earnest 
in  his  apologies — he  had  not  "  meant  it  was  for  sa  likes  o' 
her  to  think  o'  a  public-house,"  and  so  forth. 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  the  party  from  the  Manse 
had  nearly  reached  the  path  across  the  moor  to  the  church, 
and  were  therefore  on  the  point  of  joining  the  slow  stream 
of  people  that  came  up  from  the  village,  the  noise  of  a 
carriage  was  heard  behind  them.  Instantly  all  the  faces  of 
the  people  were  turned.  Such  a  sound  had  rarely  indeed 
been  heard  at  Airlie  on  a  Sunday  morning  ;  and  there  was 
a  manifest  lingering  on  the  moorland  road  to  see  who  this 
might  be  that  was  outraging  the  solemn  and  decorous 
gravity  of  the  Sabbath. 

Coquette,  the  Pensioner,  Leezibeth,  and  the  boys,  stepped 
to  one  side,  to  let  the  carriage  pass.  But  it  had  not  passed 
them  when  the  loud  voice  of  a  woman  was  heard  ordering 
the  driver  to  stop.  The  vehicle,  indeed,  halted  close  by 
the  party  from  the  Manse ;  and  Coquette  found  to  her 
astonishment  and  dismay  that  she  was  confronted  by  the 
woman  who  had  walked  up  to  Lord  Earlshope  and  herself 
in  the  Park. 

"  What !  The  little  Spanish  princess  !  "  cried  the 
woman,  with  her  bold,  black  eyes  fixed  on  the  girl  with  a 
look  of  impudent  merriment.  "  So  this  is  where  you  come 
from,  is  it  ?     Here,  won't  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?  " 

Slic  sat  round  in  the  carriage,  and  put  her  hand  over  the 

U 


290  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

side.  Coquette  shrank  back  a  step,  and  inadvertently 
caught  hold  of  Neil's  arm. 

"  She  is  afraid  of  me,"  said  the  woman  in  the  carriage  to 
her  companion — another  woman,  less  gaudily  dressed,  who 
sat  opposite  her.  "  She  cuts  me  !  Our  country  beauties 
are  proud  !  But  you  were  not  born  and  bred  in  this 
desolate  hole,  were  you  ?  "  she  added,  addressing  Coquette. 

The  girl  was  too  much  alarmed  to  reply.  The  whole 
scene  was  visible  to  the  people,  who  made  no  pretence  of 
walking  on  to  the  church,  but  stopped  and  stared  at  the 
strange  spectacle  of  a  bold,  red-faced,  impudent  woman 
addressing  the  Minister's  niece,  and  breaking  the  stillness 
of  the  Sabbath  morning  with  her  loud  talking  and  her 
indecent  laughter. 

The  scene  only  lasted  for  a  couple  of  seconds,  however. 
The  Pensioner  walked  boldly  up  to  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
and  said — ■ 

"  What  is  it  you  will  want  wis  sa  Minister's  niece  ?  " 

For  reply*  he  got  a  handful  of  raisins  and  almonds  tossed 
into  his  face  ;  and  then,  with  another  shriek  of  laughter, 
in  which  her  companion  joined,  the  woman  called  aloud  to 
her  coachman — 

"  Drive  on  to  Earlshope." 

"  To  Earlshope  !  "  whispered  the  villagers  among  them- 
selves ;  and  then  they  looked  at  Coquette,  who,  pale  and 
yet  apparently  self-possessed,  had  crossed  into  the  path 
with  Leezibeth,  and  was  already  walking  slowly  towards 
the  church. 

For  an  instant  or  two  the  Pensioner  stood  looking  at 
the  retreating  carriage,  his  whole  frame  trembling  with 
rage  at  the  insult  he  had  received.  Of  the  rapid  Gaelic  he 
uttered  there  and  then  it  was  fortunate  the  villagers  could 
overhear  or  understand  but  little.  Then,  with  a  proud 
and  dignified  air,  he  drew  up  his  shoulders,  and  marched  in 
military  fashion  after  Coquette,  whom  he  overtook. 

"  Earlshope  !  Earlshope  !  "  said  the  old  man,  puffing  and 
snorting  with  indignation.  "  It  will  be  no  Earlshope  she 
will  see  sa  day.  Oh,  I  will  know  all  apout  it.  We  wass 
warned — and  when  his  lordship  did  ride  away  this 
morning,  his  last  words  was  apout  this  leddy  that  might  be 
for  coming  to  look  at  sa  house." 


AN  APPARITION,  291 

"  Was  Lord  Earlshope  here  this  morning  ? "  said 
Coquette,  quickly. 

The  Pensioner  was  startled  to  find  what  he  had  done. 
In  his  indignation,  he  had  told  not  only  what  he  knew 
himself,  but  also  that  which  had  been  given  him  as  a 
profound  secret  by  the  housekeeper.  Never  in  his  life 
before  had  he  been  so  indiscreet ;  and  in  his  perplexity  and 
consternation  he  made  wild  and  desperate  efforts  to  recover 
the  ownership  of  these  mysteries. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  he  said,  hurriedly,  and  with  every  token 
of  vexation.  "  It  will  pe  all  nonsense  that  sa  woman  has 
put  into  my  head.  His  lordship  at  Earlshope  ?  He 
hassna  been  sare  for  many  and  many's  sa  day,  as  sure  as  I 
will  pe  porn  !  " 

The  Pensioner  gave  this  last  assurance  with  a  downcast 
head  and  in  a  sort  of  anxious  whisper  ;  for  they  were  now 
near  the  church  door,  where  outspoken  lies  might  be 
dangerous  cattle  to  deal  with.  Coquette's  calm  eyes 
looked  at  the  old  man,  and  saw  his  perturbation.  She 
perceived  that  he  had  unintentionally  revealed  a  secret. 
Lord  Earlshope  had  left  the  neighbourhood  only  that 
morning  ;  and  with  that,  and  this  wild  escapade  of  his  wife, 
to  think  over — even  if  she  had  nothing  of  her  own  to 
trouble  her  mind — she  entered  the  small  building.  For  a 
moment  she  could  not  help  reflecting  that  if,  instead  of 
listening  to  the  harsh  psalm-singing,  she  could  have  gone 
away  and  knelt  down  all  by  herself  in  one  of  the  small, 
twilight  recesses  in  a  certain  little  chapel  on  the  Loire,  she 
would  have  been  happy.  It  would  have  been  to  her  like 
bendinsr  down  once  more  at  her  mother's  knee. 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

EARLSHOPE   IS   INVADED. 

Me  an  while  the  carriage  had  been  driven  to  the  gates 
of  Earlshope.  The  lodgekeeper  came  out,  and  naturally 
opened  the  gates,  although  sufficiently  surprised  to  see 
anybody  arrive  at  such  a  time.  When,  at  last,  the  landau 
arrived  at  the  house,  the  occupants  alighted.     The  house- 

u  2 


292  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

keeper  was  already  standing  there,  in  front  of  the  open 
door,  glaring  defiance. 

The  first  of  the  two  women  walked  up  the  stone  steps  in  a 
slow  and  pompous  fashion,  and,  with  an  air  of  mock-heroic 
gravity,  produced  a  card,  on  which  was  printed  Mrs.  Smith 
Arnold. 

"  'Deed  no  !  "  said  the  housekeeper,  rather  incoherently. 

Mrs.  Arnold  looked  at  her  companion,  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  My  good  woman,  I  suppose  you  can't  read.  That  is 
not  a  begging  letter.  It  is  a  card.  I  have  the  permission 
of  Lord  Earlshope  to  look  over  the  house  :  I  don't  mean 
to  steal  anything,  but  you  may  come  with  us  wherever  we 
go,  if  you  please." 

The  housekeeper  began  to  wax  warm. 

"  Canna  read  !  I  can  read  weel  aneugh  ;  and  what  I 
say  is,  that  not  one  step  into  this  house  will  ye  gang  the 
day,  his  lordship's  permission  or  no  permission." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  woman  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Arnold,  with 
an  assumption  of  haughtiness. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  the  Scotchwoman,  doggedly. 
"  And  I  havena  been  kept  frae  the  kirk  a'  for  nothing,  as 
ye'll  find  out,  gin  ye  attempt  ony  o'  your  fine  airs  wi'  me." 

These  latter  words  were  spoken  rather  hotly  ;  and  both 
the  women  who  stood  before  her  looked  surprised.  How- 
ever, the  so-called  Mrs.  Arnold  picked  up  some  temper,  and 
merely  exclaiming — "  Oh,  the  creature's  mad  !  "  brushed 
past  into  the  house,  along  with  her  companion.  Lord 
Earlshope's  plenipotentiary  was  at  once  stupefied  and 
powerless.  In  order  to  avoid  a  public  scandal  on  the 
Sabbath  morning,  she  had  sent  the  other  servants  to 
church,  confident  that  her  own  authority  would  be  sufficient 
to  repulse  any  casual  visitor.  Now  she  found  the  house 
invaded  by  two  strange  women,  and  she  was  placed  in  an 
awkward  dilemma.  If  she  went  through  the  house  with 
them,  she  would  condone  their  offence,  and  be  unable  to 
eject  them  ;  if  she  went  for  help  to  the  lodge,  they,  in  the 
meantime,  might  pillage  and  plunder  in  every  direction. 
Eventually,  after  a  moment  of  incensed  hesitation,  she 
followed  them. 

And  gradually  she  perceived  that  they  were  not  thieves. 


EARLSHOPE  IS  INVADED.  293 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Smith  Arnold  betrayed  a  singular  acquaintance 
with  many  objects  in  the  house,  particularly  in  a  small 
drawing-room  or  morning-room  which  Lord  Earlshope  was 
scarcely  ever  known  to  enter. 

"  But  where  is  my  portrait  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Your  portrait  !  repeated  the  housekeeper,  with  all  her 
indignation  welling  up  again. 

"  Woman,  you  are  an  ass — a  microcephalous  idiot  in  fact ; 
but  you  don't  know  it,  and  it  is  no  matter.  He  might 
have  brought  my  portrait  here  ;  it  is  a  dull  hole,  and  it 
might  have  cheered  him.  And  this  is  the  place  he  used  to 
talk  about  with  something  like  rapture  !  Good  heavens  ! 
it  is  dismal  as  a  church.  Look  at  the  deserted  country  and 
the  bare  shore  and  the  black  sea.  What's  the  name  of 
those  mountains  over  there  ?  " 

"  Ye  had  better  ask  them,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "  since 
ye  can  make  free  enough  to  come  into  a  strange  house,  and 
talk  as  if  everything  belonged  to  ye  !  " 

"  And  so  it  does — so  it  does  ;  that  is  the  joke  of  it. 
You  would  understand  it  if  you  were  not  such  an  ass,  my 
good  wToman ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  very  stupid 
person." 

"  Are  ye  going  to  leave  this  house  ?  "  said  the  house- 
keeper, in  a  blaze  of  anger. 

But  the  temper  of  the  housekeeper  was  nothing  to  the 
sudden  passion  that  shot  into  the  black  eyes  of  this  woman, 
as  she  said — ■ 

"  Don't  talk  to  me !  I  tell  you,  don't  talk  to  me,  or 
I  will  dash  a  bottle  of  vitriol  in  your  face,  and  blind 
you,  blind  you,  blind  you  !  " 

Then  she  burst  into  an  ironical  lauo:h. 

"  What  a  fool  you  are — an  ass— an  idiot !  You  haven't 
got  the  brains  of  a  slow-worm.  My  good  woman,  believe' 
me,  you  are  an  ass  !  " 

She  began  to  turn  over  the  things  on  the  table — books, 
photographs,  cards,  and  what  not.  The  housekeeper  started 
and  listened.  There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  stair. 
In  a  minute  or  two,  the  Pensioner  made  his  appearance  at 
the  door,  tall  and  erect. 

At  the  sight  of  this  ally,  all  the  housekeeper's  courage  and 
anger  returned.     She  denounced  the  strangers  as  thieves 


294  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and  pick-pockets.  She  appealed  to  the  Pensioner  to  help  her. 
She  conjured  him  to  turn  them  out  of  the  house. 

"  Sat  is  what  I  will  do,"  observed  Neil,  advancing  calmly, 
with  the  sort  of  deferential  and  yet  firm  air  of  the  private 
soldier. 

"  Please,  mem,  will  ye  go,  or  will  I  pit  ye  out  o'  sa 
house  ?  " 

"  Lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  I  will  set  fire  to  the  place,  and 
burn  you  and  it  into  cinders.  Savages  that  you  are — and 
idiots  !  " 

"  You  will  say  what  you  please,"  observed  Neil,  who  pro- 
bably considered  these  phrases  as  rather  feeble  when  com- 
pared with  some  that  he  knew  in  his  native  tongue  ;  "  but  I 
mean  to  put  ye  both  out  o'  sa  house.  I  will  not  strike  you 
— Cootness  knaws  ;  but  I  will  jist  tek  ye  up,  one  by  one, 
and  carry  ye  down  sa  stairs,  and  out  into  sa  gairden,  and 
leave  ye  there.    Will  ye  go,  or  will  ye  not  go  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am,  you  idiot  ?  "  cried  the  woman, 
with  her  face  grown  purple  with  passion. 

Her  companion  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm ;  she  shook 
her  off. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  said  the  Pensioner. 

"  I  am  Lady  Earlshope,  you  ignorant  brutes  and  beasts  !  " 
she  cried.  "  And  I  will  have  every  one  of  you  starved  until 
a  crow  would  not  pick  your  eyes  out,  and  I'll  have  you 
whipped,  and  starved,  you  ignorant  hounds  !  " 

"  Lady  Earlshope  !  "  said  the  housekeeper,  rather  falling 
back. 

The  quieter  of  the  two  women  again  interposed  and 
endeavoured  to  pacify  her  companion.  She,  indeed,  seemed 
rather  frightened.  Eventually,  however,  she  managed  to 
get  her  infuriated  mistress  coaxed  out  of  the  room  and  down 
the  stair  ;  and  as  they  were  descending  they  nearly  stumbled 
over  a  third  person — the  lodgekeeper,  who,  fancying  that 
there  was  something  amiss,  had  come  along  out  of  curiosity. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Oh,  I  remember.  I 
suppose  you  have  been  listening.  Well,  you  can  go  and  tell 
your  babbling  neighbours  of  the  reception  Lady  Earlshope 
met  with  in  her  own  house." 

And  that  is  precisely  what  the  man  did.  He  had  over- 
heard much  of  the  stormy  scene  in  the  drawing-room,  and, 


EARLSHOPE  IS  INVADED.  295 

being  -of  a  prudent  disposition,  did  not  wish  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  it.  When  the  carriage  drove  off, 
he  went  quietly  back  to  the  lodge,  leaving  the  housekeeper 
and  the  Pensioner  under  the  delusion  that  they  alone  knew 
the  relationship  of  this  woman  to  Lord  Earlshope.  But  the 
lodgekeeper  revealed  the  secret,  in  an  awe-stricken  way, 
to  his  wife ;  who  whispered  it,  in  profound  confidence,  to 
one  of  the  female  servants  ;  who  subsequently  told  it  to  her 
mother  in  the  village. 

There  it  ran  the  round,  with  such  exaggerations  and 
comments  as  may  be  imagined ;  and  if  Coquette  had  been 
looked  on  rather  askance  from  the  moment  of  her  coming  to 
Airlie,  this  news  placed  her  under  the  ban  of  a  definite  sus- 
picion, and  even  horror.  What  were  her  relations  with  the 
drunken  and  passionate  woman  who  had  accosted  her,  in  the 
open  face  of  day,  on  that  memorable  Sabbath  morning  ? 
What  was  the  meaning  of  her  intimacy  with  Lord  Earlshope, 
and  the  cause  of  his  visits  to  the  Manse  ever  since  she  had 
come  to  live  there  ? 

Even  the  children  caught  the  fever  of  distrust,  and 
avoided  Coquette.  That  would  have  been  a  bitter  thing  for 
her  to  bear,  had  she  noticed  it ;  but  she  was  perhaps  too 
much  occupied  then  with  her  own  sad  thoughts.  Nor  was 
the  Minister  aware  that  his  own  conduct  in  harbouring  this 
girl  was  forming  the  subject  of  serious  remark  in  the  village. 
The  excuses  made  for  him  were  in  themselves  accusations. 
He  was  withdrawn  from  worldly  affairs.  He  was  engrossed 
in  his  books.  He  was  liable  to  be  imposed  on.  All  this 
was  said ;  but  none  the  less  was  it  felt  that  the  duty  of 
looking  sharply  after  the  conduct  of  his  household  and  the 
persons  around  hinvwas  specially  incumbent  on  one  whose 
business  it  was  to  "see  narrowly  to  the  interests  of  the 
Church,  and  set  an  example  to  his  Christian  brethren. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

coquette's  soxg. 

For  a  long  period  Coquette's  life  at  Airlie  was  so  uneventful 
that  it  may  be  dismissed  with  the  briefest  notice.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  passed  through  that  season  of  youth  and 


296  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

springtime  when  romance  and  love  and  anticipation  ought 
to  colour  for  a  brief  while  the  atmosphere  round  a  human 
existence  as  if  with  rainbows.  That  was  all  over — if, 
indeed,  it  had  ever  occurred  to  her.  There  was  now  but  a 
sad,  grey  monotony  ;  a  going  by  of  the  weeks  and  months 
in  this  remote  moorland  place,  where  the  people  seemed 
hard,  unimpressionable,  unfriendly.  She  began  to  acquire 
notions  of  duty.  She  began  to  devise  charitable  occupa- 
tions for  herself.  She  even  began  various  studies  which 
could  never  by  any  chance  be  of  use  to  her.  And  she 
grew  almost  to  love  the  slow,  melancholy  droning  by  the 
old  Scotch  folk  of  those  desolating  passages  in  the  Prophets 
which  told  of  woe  and  wrath  and  the  swift  end  of  things,  or 
which,  still  more  appropriately,  dealt  with  the  vanity  of  life, 
and  the  shortness  of  man's  days. 

The  Whaup  would  sometimes  talk  of  marriage — she  put  it 
farther  and  farther  off.  He  seldom  indeed  came  to  Airlie  ; 
his  hospital-work  kept  him  busy  ;  and  he  was  eagerly  look- 
ing forward  to  the  junior  partnership  that  Dr.  Menzies  had 
promised  him.  But  on  one  of  these  rare  visits  he  said  to  his 
cousin — • 

"  Coquette,  you  are  growing  very  like  a  Scotch  girl." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  manner,  I  mean  ;  not  in  appearance.  You  are  not  as 
demonstrative  as  you  used  to  be.  You  appear  more  settled, 
prosaic,  matter-of-fact.  You  have  lost  all  your  old  childish 
caprices  ;  and  you  no  longer  appear  to  be  so  pleased  with 
every  little  thing  that  happens.  You  are  much  graver  than 
you  used  to  be." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  said,  absently. 

"  But  when  we  are  married  I  mean  to  take  you  away  from 
this  slow  place,  and  introduce  you  to  lots  of  pleasant  people, 
and  brighten  you  up  into  the  old  Coquette." 

"  I  am  very  content  to  be  here,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  Content !  Is  that  all  you  ask  for  ?  Content !  I  suppose 
a  nun  is  content  with  a  stone  cell  eight  feet  square.  But 
you  were  not  intended  to  be  content ;  you  must  be 
delighted,  and  you  shall  be  delighted.  Coquette,  you  never 
laugh  now ! " 

"  And  you,"  she  said,  "  you  are  grown  much  serious  too." 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  have  such  a  deal  to  think  about. 


COQUETTES  SONG.  297 

One  has  to  drop  robbing  people's  gardens  some  day  or 
other." 

"  I  have  some  things  to  think  about  also,"  she  said — "  not 
always  to  make  me  laugh." 

"  What  troubles  you,  then,  Coquette  ?  "  he  demanded 
gently. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  be  asked  questions,  and  questions  always," 
she  said,  with  a  trace  of  fretful  impatience,  which  was  a 
startling  surprise  to  him.  "  I  have  much  to  do  in  the 
village,  with  the  children — and  the  parents,  they  do  seem 
afraid  of  me." 

The  "Whaup  regarded  her  silently,  with  rather  a  pained 
look  in  his  face  ;  and  then  she,  looking  up,  seemed  to 
become  aware  that  she  had  spoken  harshly.  She  put  her 
hand  on  his  hand,  and  said — 

"  You  must  not  be  angry  with  me,  Tom.  I  do  often  find 
myself  getting  vexed,  I  do  not  know  why  ;  and  I  ask  myself, 
if  I  do  stay  long  enough  at  Airlie,  whether  I  shall  become 
like  Leezibeth  and  her  husband."  , 

"  You  shall  not  stay  long  enough  to  try,"  said  the  Whaup, 
cheerfully. 

Then  he  went  away  up  to  Glasgow,  determined  to  work 
day  and  night  to  achieve  his  dearest  hopes.  Sometimes  he 
reflected,  when  he  heard  his  fellowT-students  tell  of  their  gay 
adventures  with  their  sweethearts,  that  his  sweetheart,  in 
bidding  him  good-bye,  had  never  given  him  one  kiss.  And 
on  each  occasion  that  he  went  down  to  Airlie,  Coquette 
seemed  to  him  to  be  growing  more  and  more  like  the  beau- 
tiful and  sad  Madonnas  of  early  Italian  art,  and  he  scarce 
dared  to  think  of  kissing  her. 

So  the  days  went  by,  and  the  slow,  humdrum  life  of 
Airlie  crept  through  the  seasons,  bringing  the  people  a  little 
nearer  to  the  churchyard  up  on  the  moor  that  had  received 
their  fathers  and  their  forefathers.  The  Minister  worked 
away  with  a  patient  earnestness  at  his  Concordance  to  the 
Psalms  ;  and  had  the  pride  of  a  young  author  in  thinking 
of  its  becoming  a  real,  bound  book  with  the  opening  of  the 
new  year.  Coquette  went  systematically  and  gravely  about 
Jier  charitable  works  in  the  village,  and  took  no  notice  of 
the  ill-favour  with  which  her  efforts  were  regarded.  All 
that  summer  and  winter  Earlshope  remained  empty. 


298  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

One  evening,  in  the  beginning  of  the  new  year,  Mr. 
Gillespie  the  Schoolmaster  came  up  to  the  Manse,  and  was 
admitted  into  the  study,  where  Coquette  and  her  uncle  sat 
together,  busy  with  an  array  of  proof-sheets.  The  School- 
master had  a  communication  to  make.  Mr.  Cassilis, 
enjoying  the  strange  excitement  and  responsibility  of 
correcting  the  sheets  of  a  work  which  would  afterwards 
bear  his  name,  was  forced  to  beg  the  Schoolmaster  to  be 
brief ;  and  he,  thus  goaded,  informed  them,  after  a  short 
preamble,  that  Earlshope  was  to  be  sold. 

The  Schoolmaster  was  pleased  with  the  surprise  which 
his  news  produced.  Indeed,  he  had  come  resolved  to  watch 
the  effect  of  these  tidings  upon  the  Minister's  niece,  so  that 
he  might  satisfy  his  mind  of  her  being  in  secret  collusion 
with  the  young  Lord  of  Earlshope  ;  and  he  now  glared  at 
her  through  his  gold  spectacles.  She  had  started  on  hearing 
the  intelligence — so  that  she  was  evidently  unacquainted 
with  it ;  and  yet  she  showed  no  symptoms  of  regret  over 
an  event  which  clearly  betokened  Lord  Earlshope's  final 
withdrawal  from  the  country. 

"A  strange,  even  an  unaccountable  thing,  it  may  be 
termed,"  observed  the  Schoolmaster,  "inasmuch  as  his 
lordship  was  no  spendthrift,  and  had  surely  as  much  as 
could  satisfy  all  his  wants  or  necessities,  as  one  might  say. 
Yet  he  has  aye  been  a  singular  young  man — which  may  have 
been  owing,  or  caused  by,  certain  circumstances,  or  relation- 
ships of  which  you  have  doubtless  heard,  Mr.  Cassilis." 

"I  have  heard  too  much  of  the  vain  talking  of  the 
neighbourhood  about  his  lordship  and  his  affairs,"  said  the 
Minister,  impatiently  turning  to  his  proofs. 

"I  will  venture  to  say,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  remarked  the 
Schoolmaster,  who  was  somewhat  nettled,  "that  it  is  no 
vain  talking,  as  no  one  has  been  heard  to  deny  that  he  is  a 
married  man." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  Minister,  looking  up.  "  Of  what 
concern  is  it  to  either  you  or  me,  Mr.  Gillespie,  whether  he 
is  a  married  man  or  not  ?  " 

The  Schoolmaster  was  rather  stunned.  He  looked  at 
Coquette.  She  sat  apparently  unimpressionable  and  still. 
He  heaved  a  sigh,  and  shook  his  head  ;  and  then  he  rose. 

"It  is  the  duty  o'  a  Christian — which  I  humbly  hope 


COQUETTE'S  SONG.  299 

that  I  am,  sir, — no'  to  think  ill  of  his  neighbours ;  but  I 
confess,  Mr.  Cassilis,  ye  go  forward  a  length  in  that  airt,  or 
direction,  I  might  term  it  rather,  which  is  surprising." 

The  Minister  rose  also. 

"  Let  me  see  you  through  the  passage,  Mr.  Gillespie, 
which  is  dark  at  these  times.  I  do  not  claim  for  myself, 
however,  any  especial  charity  in  this  matter ;  for  I  would 
observe  that  it  is  not  always  to  a  man's  disfavour  to  believe 
him  married." 

As  the  passage  was  in  reality  exceedingly  dark,  the 
Schoolmaster  could  not  tell  whether  there  was  in  the 
Minister's  eye  a  certain  humorous  twinkle  which  he  had 
sometimes  observed  there,  and  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  he 
did  not  particularly  like,  for  it  generally  accompanied  a 
severe  rebuke.  However,  the  Schoolmaster  had  done  his 
duty.  The  Minister  was  warned  ;  and  if  any  of  his  house- 
hold were  led  astray,  the  village  of  Airlie  could  wash  its 
hands  of  the  matter. 

At  last  there  came  people  to  make  Earlshope  ready  for 
the  auctioneer's  hammer  :  and  then  there  was  a  great  sale, 
and  the  big  house  was  gutted  and  shut  up.  But  neither  it 
nor  the  estate  was  sold  ;  though  strangers  came  from  time 
to  time  to  look  at  both. 

Once  more  the  still  moorland  neighbourhood  returned  to 
its  quiet  ways  ;  and  Coquette  went  the  round  of  her  simple 
duties,  lessening  day  by  day  the  vague  prejudice  which  had 
somehow  been  stirred  up  against  her.  It  was  with  no  such 
intention,  certainly,  that  she  laboured  ;  it  was  enough  if 
the  days  passed,  and  if  the  Whaup  were  content  to  cease 
writing  for  a  definite  answer  about  that  marriage  which 
was  yet  far  away  in  the  future.  Leezibeth  looked  on  this 
new  phase  of  the  girl's  character  with  an  esteem  and 
approval  tempered  by  something  like  awe.  She  could  not 
tell  what  had  taken  away  from  her  all  the  old  gaiety,  and 
wilfulness,  and  carelessness.  Strangely  enough,  too,  Leezi- 
beth was  less  her  confidante  now  ;  and  on  the  few  occasions 
that  Lady  Drum  came  over  to  Airlie,  the  old  lady  was 
surprised  to  find  Coquette  grown  almost  distant  and  reserved 
in  manner.  Indeed,  the  girl  was  as  much  alone  there  as  if 
she  had  been  afloat  on  a  raft  at  sea.  All  hope  of  change, 
of  excitement,  of  pleasure,  seemed  to  have  left  her.    She 


300  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

seldom  opened  the  piano  ;  and,  when  she  did,  "  Drumclog  " 
was  no  longer  a  martial  air,  but  a  plaintive  wail  of  grief. 

Perhaps,  of  all  the  people  around  her,  the  one  that 
noticed  most  of  her  low  spirits  was  the  Whaup's  young 
brother  Dugald,  of  whom  she  had  made  a  sort  of  pet.  Yery 
often  she  took  him  with  her  on  her  missions  into  the 
village,  or  her  walks  into  the  country  round.  And  one  day, 
as  they  were  sitting  on  the  moor,  she  said  to  him — 

"  I  suppose  you  never  heard  of  an  old  German  song  that 
is  very  strange  and  sad  ?  I  wonder  if  I  can  remember  the 
words  and  repeat  them  to  you.  They  are  something  like  this — 

Three  horsemen  rode  out  to  the  gate  of  the  town  :  Good-bye ! 
Fine-Sweetheart,  she  looked  from  her  window  down:   Good-bye! 
And  if  ill  fate  such  grief  must  bring 
Then  reach  me  hither  your  golden  ring! 
Good-bye  !     Good-bye  !     Good-bye  ! 
Ah,  parting  wounds  so  bitterly ! 

And  it  is  Death  that  parts  us  so:  Good-bye! 
Many  a  rose-red  maiden  must  go :  Good-bye ! 
He  sunders  many  a  man  from  wife : 
They  knew  how  happy  a  thing  was  life. 
Good-bye !    Good-bye !    Good-bye  ! 
Ah,  parting  wouuds  so  bitterly ! 

He  steals  the  infant  out  of  its  bed  :     Good-bye ! 
And  when  shall  I  see  my  nut-brown  maid  ?    Good-bye ! 
It  is  not  to-morrow :  ah,  were  it  to-day, 
There  are  two  that  I  know  that  woulel  be  gay ! 
Good-bye  !     Good-bye !     Good-bye  ! 
Ah,  parting  wounds  so  bitterly ! 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 
"  I  think  it  means,"  said  Coquette,  looking  away  over  the 
moor,  "  that  everybody  in  the  world  is  miserable." 
"  And  are  you  miserable,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Not  more  than  others,  I  suppose,"  said  Coquette. 


CHAPTER  L. 

COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS. 

The  dull,  grey  atmosphere  that  thus  hung  over  Coquette's 
life  was  about  to  be  pierced  by  a  lightning-flash. 

Two  years  had  passed  away  in  a  quiet,   monotonous 


COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS.      301 

fashion  ;  and  very  little  had  happened  during  that  time  to 
the  people  about  Airlie.  The  Minister,  it  is  true,  had 
published  his  Concordance  to  the  Psalms ;  and  not  only 
had  he  received  various  friendly  and  congratulatory  letters 
about  it  from  clergymen  standing  high  in  the  estimation  of 
the  world,  but  notice  had  been  taken  of  the  work  in  the 
public  prints,  and  that  in  a  manner  to  fill  the  old  man's 
heart  with  secret  joy.  Coquette  cut  out  those  paragraphs 
which  were  laudatory  (suppressing  ruthlessly  those  which 
were  not)  and  placed  them  in  a  book.  Indeed,  she 
managed  the  whole  business ;  and,  especially  in  the 
monetary  portion  of  it,  insisted  on  keeping  her  negotiations 
with  the  publishers  a  profound  secret. 

"  It  is  something  for  me  to  do,  uncle,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  have  done  it  very  well,  Catherine,"  said  the 
Minister.  "I  am  fair  surprised  to  see  what  a  goodly 
volume  it  has  turned  out — the  smooth  paper — the  clear 
printing  :  it  is  altogether  what  I  would  call  a  presentable 
book." 

The  Minister  would  have  been  less  surprised  had  he 
known  the  reckless  fashion  in  which  Coquette  had  given 
instructions  to  the  publishers,  and  the  amount  of  money 
she  subsequently  and  surreptitiously  and  cheerfully  paid. 

"  There  are  newspapers,"  said  the  Minister,  "  which 
they  tell  me  deal  in  a  light  and  profane  fashion  wi'  religious 
matters.  I  hope  the  editors  will  read  my  Concordance 
carefully,  before  writing  of  it  in  their  journals." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  the  editor  who  writes  about  books," 
remarked  Coquette.  "  An  editor  of  a  Nantes  newspaper 
did  use  to  come  to  our  house,  and  I  remember  his  saying  to 
my  papa,  that  he  gave  books  to  his  writers  who  could  do 
nothing  else  ;  so  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  they  do  make 
mistakes.  As  for  him,  uncle,  I  am  sure  he  did  not  know 
who  wrote  the  Psalms." 

"  Very  likely — very  likely,"  said  the  Minister.  "  But  the 
editors  of  our  newspapers  are  a  different  class  of  men,  for 
they  write  for  a  religious  nation  and  must  be  acquainted  wi' 
such  things.  The  Schoolmaster  thinks  I  ought  to  write  to 
the  editors,  and  beg  them  to  read  the  book  wi1  care." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that,  uncle,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Coquette  ; 
and  somehow  or  other,  the  Minister  had  of  late  got  into 


302  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

such  a  habit  of  consulting  and  obeying  Coquette  that  her 
simple  expression  of  opinion  sufficed,  and  he  did  not  write 
to  any  editor. 

At  times  during  that  long  period,  but  not  often,  the 
Whaup  came  down  to  Airlie,  and  stayed  from  the  Saturday 
to  the  Monday  morning.  The  anxious  and  troubled  way  in 
which  Coquette  put  aside  any  reference  to  their  future 
marriage  struck  him  painfully ;  but  for  the  present  he  was 
content  to  be  almost  silent.  There  was  no  use,  he  reflected, 
in  talking  about  this  matter  until  he  could  definitely  say  to 
her,  "  Come,  and  be  my  wife."  He  had  no  right  to  press 
her  to  give  any  more  definite  promise  than  she  had  already 
given,  when  he  himself  was  uncertain  as  to  time.  But, 
even  now,  he  saw  at  no  great  distance  ahead  the  fortunate 
moment  when  he  could  formally  claim  Coquette  as  his  bride. 
Every  day  that  he  rose,  he  knew  himself  a  d;iy  nearer  to  the 
time  when  he  should  go  down  to  Airlie  and  carry  off  with 
him  Coquette  to  be  the  wonder  of  all  his  friends  in 
Glasgow. 

Sometimes,  as  he  looked  at  Coquette,  he  felt  rather 
anxious  ;  and  wished  that  the  days  could  pass  more  quickly. 

"Iain  afraid  the  dulness  of  this  place  is  weighing  very 
heavily  on  you,  Coquette,"  he  said  to  her  one  Saturday 
afternoon  that  he  had  got  down. 

•  "  You  do  say  that  often  to  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  find 
you  looking  at  me  as  if  you  were  a  doctor.  Yet  I  am  not 
ill.  It  is  true,  I  think  that  I  am  becoming  Scotch,  as  you 
said  once  long  ago  ;  and  all  your  Scotch  people  at  Airlie 
seem  to  me  sad  and  resigned  in  their  faces.  That  is  no 
harm,  is  it  ?  " 

"  But  why  should  you  be  sad  and  resigned  ?  " 

"  I  do  catch  it  as  an  infection  from  the  others,"  she  said 
with  a  smile. 

Yet  he  was  not  satisfied  ;  and  he  went  back  to  Glasgow 
more  impatient  than  ever. 

"  For,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  once  I  can  go  and  ask  her  to 
fulfil  her  promise,  there  will  be  a  chance  of  breaking  this 
depressing  calm  that  has  settled  on  her.  I  will  take  her 
away  from  Airlie.  I  will  get  three  months'  holidays,  and 
take  her  down  to  see  the  Loire,  and  then  along  to 
Marseilles,  and  then  on  to  Italy,  and  then  back  through 


COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS.      303 

Switzerland.  And  only  think  of  Coquette  being  always 
with  me  ;  and  my  having  to  order  breakfast  for  her ; 
and  see  that  the  wine  is  always  quite  sound  and  good  for 
her  ;  and  see  that  she  is  wrapped  up  against  the  cold  ;  and  to 
listen  always  to  her  sweet  voice,  and  the  broken  English, 
and  the  little  perplexed  stammer  now  and  again — isn't  that 
something  to  work  for  ?  Hurry  011,  days,  and  weeks,  and 
months,  and  bring  Coquette  to  me  !  " 

So  the  time  went  by,  and  Coquette  had  no  news  of  Lord 
Earlshope — there  was  not  even  the  mention  of  his  name. 
But  one  dull  morning  in  March,  she  was  walking  by  herself 
over  the  moor ;  and  suddenly  she  heard  on  the  gravel  of  the 
path  in  front  of  her  a  quick  footstep  that  she  seemed  to 
recognise.  Her  heart  stood  still,  and  for  a  second  she  felt 
faint  and  giddy.  Then,  without  ever  lifting  her  head,  she 
endeavoured  to  turn  aside  and  avoid  him. 

"  Won't  you  even  speak  to  me,  Coquette  ?  " 

The  sound  of  his  voice  made  the  blood  spring  hotly  to 
her  face  again,  and  recalled  the  beating  of  her  heart  ;  but 
still  she  remained  immovable.  And  then  she  answered,  in 
a  low  voice — 

"  Yes,  I  will  speak  to  you  if  you  wish." 

He  came  nearer  to  her — his  own  face  quite  pale — and 
said — ■ 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  nearly  forgotten  me,  Coquette  ;  I 
came  to  see.  I  heard  that  you  looked  very  sad,  and  went 
about  alone  much,  and  were  pale  ;  but  I  would  rather  hear 
you  tell  me,  Coquette,  that  it  is  all  a  mistake." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  anything,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  Coquette,"  he  cried,  coming  quite  close  to  her,  "  tell 
me  this — once  for  all — have  you  forgotten  nothing  as  I 
have  forgotten  nothing  ? — do  you  love  me  as  if  we  had  just 
parted  yesterday  ? — has  all  this  time  done  nothing  for 
either  of  us  ?  " 

She  looked  round,  wildly,  as  if  seeking  some  means  of 
escape  ;  and  then,  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  she  found  his 
arms  round  her  as  in  the  olden  time,  and  she  was  saying, 
almost  incoherently — 

"  Oh,  my  dearest,  my  dearest,  I  love  you  more  than  ever 


3^4  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

— night  and  day  I  have  never  ceased  to  think  of  you — and 
now — now  my  only  wish  is  to  die — here,  with  your  arms 
round  me  ! " 

"  Listen,  Coquette,  listen  !  "  he  said.  "  Do  you  know 
what  I  have  done  ?  A  ship  passes  here  in  the  morning  for 
America  :  I  have  taken  two  berths  in  it,  for  you  and  for 
me :  to-morrow  we  shall  be  sailing  away  to  a  new  world, 
and  leaving  all  those  troubles  behind  us.  Do  you  hear  me, 
Coquette  ?  " 

The  girl  trembled  violently  :  her  face  was  hidden. 

"You  remember  that  woman,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"  Nothing  has  been  heard  of  her  for  two  years.  I  have 
sought  everywhere  for  her.  She  must  be  dead.  And  so, 
Coquette,  you  know,  we  shall  be  married  when  we  get 
out  there ;  and  perhaps  in  after  years  we  may  return  to 
Airlie.  But  now,  Coquette,  this  is  what  you  must  do  ;  the 
Caroline  will  be  waiting  off  Saltcoats  to-night ;  you  must 
go  down  by  yourself  ;  and  I  will  tell  you  how  to  have 
the  gig  come  for  you.  And  then  we  are  to  intercept  the 
ship,  darling  ;  and  to-morrow  you  will  have  turned  your 
face  to  a  new  world,  and  will  soon  forget  this  old  one,  that 
was  so  cruel  to  you.     What  do  you  say,  Coquette  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cannot,  I  cannot !  "  murmured  the  girl.  "  What 
will  become  of  my  uncle  ?  " 

"Your  uncle  is  an  old  man.  He  would  have  been  as 
lonely  if  you  had  never  come  to  Airlie,  Coquette  ;  and  we 
may  come  back  to  see  him." 

She  looked  up  now,  with  a  white  face,  into  his  eyes,  and 
said  slowly — 

"  You  know  that  if  we  go  away  to-night  I  shall  never  see 
him  again — nor  any  one  of  my  friends." 

He  shrank  somehow  from  that  earnest  look ;  but  none 
the  less  he  continued  his  eager  and  piteous  pleadings. 
"  What  are  friends  to  you,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said.  "  They 
cannot  make  you  happy." 

It  was  but  a  little  while  thereafter  that  Coquette  was  on 
her  way  back  to  the  Manse,  alone.  She  had  promised  to 
go  down  to  Saltcoats  that  night,  and  she  had  sealed  her  sin 
with  a  kiss. 

She  scarcely  knew  what  she  had  done  ;  and  yet  there  was 
a  dreadful  consciousness  of  some  impending  evil  pressing 


COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS.      305 

upon  her  heart.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground  as 
she  went  along  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  knew 
the  dark  clouds  were  glowing  with  a  fiery  crimson,  and 
that  there  was  a  light  as  of  sunset  glaring  over  the  moor. 
Then,  so  still  it  was  !  She  grew  afraid  that  in  this  fearful 
silence  she  should  hear  a  voice  speaking  to  her  from  the  sky 
that  appeared  to  be  close  over  her  head. 

Guilty  and  trembling  she  drew  near  to  the  Manse  ;  and, 
seeing  the  Minister  coming  out  of  the  gate,  she  managed  to 
avoid  him,  and  stole  like  a  culprit  up  to  her  own  room. 
The  first  thing  that  met  her  eyes  was  a  locket  containing  a 
portrait  of  her  mother.  She  took  it  up,  and  placed  it  in  a 
drawer,  along  with  a  crucifix  and  some  religious  books  to 
which  Leezibeth  had  objected.  She  put  it  beside  them 
reverently  and  sadly — as  though  she  knew  she  never  dared 
touch  them  any  more.  And  then  she  sat  down,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

She  was  unusually  and  tenderly  attentive  to  her  uncle 
at  dinner-time ;  and  in  answer  to  his  inquiries  why  she 
scarcely  ate  anything,  she  said  that  she  had  taken  her 
accustomed  biscuit  and  glass  of  port  wine — which  Dr. 
Menzies  had  recommended — later  than  usual.  The  answer 
did  not  quite  satisfy  the  Minister. 

"  We  must  have  Lady  Drum  to  take  ye  away  for  a 
change,"  he  said,  "  some  o'  these  days." 

When  she  had  brought  her  uncle  the  silk  handkerchief 
with  which  he  generally  covered  his  face  in  anticipation  of 
his  after-dinner  nap,  Coquette  went  upstairs,  and  placed  a 
few  odd  things  in  a  small  reticule.  She  came  downstairs 
again,  and  waited  patiently  until  tea  was  over,  and  the  boys 
sent  off  to  prepare  their  lessons  for  the  next  day. 

Then  Coquette,  having  put  on  her  shawl  and  hat,  stole 
out  of  the  house,  and  through  the  small  garden.  She 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  Of  all  the 
troubles  she  had  experienced  in  life,  the  bitterest  was 
nothing  in  comparison  to  the  ghastly  sense  of  guilt  that 
now  crushed  her  down.  She  knew  that  in  leaving  the 
Manse  she  was  leaving  behind  her  all  the  sweet  conscious- 
ness of  rectitude,  the  purity  and  innocence  which  had 
enabled  her  to  meet  trials  with  a  courageous  heart.  She 
was  leaving  behind  her  the  treasure  of  a  stainless  name,  the 

x 


306  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

crown  of  womanhood.  She  was  leaving  behind  her  her 
friends,  who  would  have  to  share  her  shame,  who  would 
have  to  face  on  her  behalf  the  cruel  tongues  of  the  world. 
She  was  leaving  behind  her  even  the  treasured  memories  of 
her  mother — for  Heaven  itself  would  be  closed  against  her, 
and  she  would  be  an  exile  from  all  that  a  pure  and  true 
woman  could  hold  dear. 

There  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  but  there  was  a  cold, 
dead  feeling  at  her  heart ;  and  she  trembled  at  the  slight 
sound  she  made  in  closing  the  gate. 

What  a  strange,  wild  evening  it  was,  as  she  got  outside, 
and  turned  to  cross  the  moor  over  to  the  west.  Through 
a  fierce  glare  of  sunset,  she  could  see  that  all  along  the 
horizon  there  stood  a  wall  of  dense  and  mysterious  blue 
cloud.  Underneath  this  the  sea  lay  black  ;  the  wind  had 
not  stirred  the  waves  into  breaking  ;  and  she  could  only 
tell  that  the  great  dark  plain  moved  in  lines  and  lines,  as 
if  it  were  silently  brooding  over  the  secrets  down  in  its 
depths.  But  above  this  dense  wall  of  cloud  flared  the  wild 
light  of  the  sunset,  with  long  fierce  dashes  of  scarlet  and 
gold  ;  while  across  the  blaze  of  yellow  there  drifted  streaks 
of  pure  silver,  showing  the  coming  of  a  storm.  Up  here  on 
the  moor,  the  stretches  of  dry  grey  grass  which  alternated 
with  brown  patches  of  heather  had,  as  it  were,  caught  fire  ; 
and  the  blowing  and  gusty  light  of  the  west  burned  along 
those  bleak  slopes  until  the  eye  wTas  dazzled  and  pained 
by  the  glow.  Even  in  the  far  east  the  clouds  had  a  blush  of 
pink  over  them,  wTith  rifts  of  green  sky  between  ;  and  the 
dark  fir  woods  that  lay  along  the  horizon  seemed  to  dwell 
within  a  veil  of  crimson  mist. 

There  was  a  strange  stillness  around,  despite  the  fact  that 
the  wind  was  sufficient  to  move  the  flaming  clouds  hither 
and  thither,  causing  now  this  and  now  that  stretch  of  the 
grey  moor  to  burn  red  under  the  shifting  evening  sky. 
There  was  quite  an  unusual  silence,  indeed.  The  birds 
seemed  to  have  grown  mute  ;  not  even  the  late  blackbird 
sang  in  the  hawthorn  bushes  by  the  side  of  the  moorland 
stream.  Coquette  hurried  on,  without  letting  her  eyes 
wander  this  way  or  that  ;  there  was  something  in  the 
appearance  of  the  moor  and  in  the  wild  light  that  alarmed 
her. 


COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS.      307 

Suddenly  she  was  confronted  by  some  one ;  and,  look- 
ing up  with  a  stifled  cry,  she  found  the  Pensioner  before 
her. 

"  I  hope  I  hefna  frichtened  ye,  Miss  Cassilis,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette.  "  But  I  did  not  expect  to  meet 
any  one." 

"  Ye  will  pe  going  on  a  vcesit ;  but  do  not  go  far,  for  it 
iss  a  stormy-looking  nicht,  and  you  will  maybe  get  ferry  wet 
before  sat  you  will  be  home  again." 

"  Thank  you.     Good-night,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  Pensioner. 

Then  he  turned,  and  said,  before  she  was  out  of  hearing — ■ 

"  Miss  Cassilis,  maype  now  you  will  know  if  his  lordship  iss 
never  coming  back  to  Earlshope  any  more,  not  even  if  he 
will  pe  unable  to  let  sa  house  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  said  Coquette,  suddenly  struck 
motionless  by  the  question. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  now,"  said  the  Pensioner,  in  a  tone  of 
apology.  "  It  wass  only  that  some  0'  the  neebors  wass  seeing 
you  speaking  to  Lord  Earlshope  this  morning,  and  I  wass 
thinking  that  very  likely  he  wass  coming  back  to  his  own 
house." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Coquette,  hurrying  on, 
with  her  heart  overburdened  with  anguish  and  dread. 

For  now  she  knew  that  all  the  people  would  learn  why  she 
had  run  away  from  her  uncle's  house  ;  and  they  would  carry 
to  the  old  man  the  story  of  their  having  seen  her  talking  to 
Lord  Earlshope.  But  for  that,  the  Minister  might  have 
thought  her  drowned  or  perished  in  some  way.  That  was  all 
over;  and  her  shame  would  be  publicly  known;  and  he 
would  have  to  bear  it  in  his  old  age. 

Down  at  the  end  of  the  moor,  she  turned  to  take  a  last 
look  at  the  Manse.  Far  up  on  the  height,  the  windows  of 
the  small  building  were  twinkling  like  gleaming  rubies  ;  the 
gable  and  the  wall  round  the  garden  were  of  a  dusky  red 
colour  ;  overhead  the  sky  was  a  pure,  clear  green,  and  the 
white  sickle  of  a  new  moon  was  faintly  visible.  Never  before 
had  Airlie  Manse  seemed  to  her  so  lovable  a  place — so  still, 
and  quiet,  and  peaceful.  And  when  she  thought  of  the  old 
man  who  had  been  like  a  father  to  her,  she  could  see  no 
more  through  the  tears  that  came  welling  up  into  her  eyes, 

X  '2 


308  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and  she  turned  and  continued  on  her  way  with  many  bitter 
sobs. 

The  wind  had  grown  chill.  The  wall  of  cloud  was  slowly 
rising  in  the  west,  until  it  had  shut  off  half  of  the  glowing 
colours  of  the  sunset ;  and  the  evening  was  becoming  rapidly 
darker.  Then  it  seemed  to  Coquette  that  the  black  plain  of 
the  sea  was  getting  strangely  close  to  her  ;  and  she  began  to 
grow  afraid  of  the  gathering  gloom. 

"  Why  did  he  not  come  to  meet  me  ?  "  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "  I  have  no  courage — no  hope — when  he  is  not 
near." 

It  grew  still  darker  ;  and  yet  she  could  not  hurry  her 
steps,  for  she  trembled  much,  and  was  like  to  become  faint. 
She  had  vague  thoughts  of  returning  ;  and  yet  she  went  on 
mechanically,  as  if  she  had  cast  the  die  of  her  fate,  and 
could  be  no  more  what  she  was. 

Then  the  first  shock  of  the  storm  fell — fell  with  a  crash 
on  the  fir  woods,  and  tore  through  them  with  a  voice  of 
thunder.  All  over  now  the  sky  was  black  ;  and  there  was  a 
whirlwind  whitening  the  sea,  the  cry  of  which  could  be 
heard  far  out  beyond  the  land.  Presently  came  the  rain  in 
wild,  fierce  torrents  that  blew  about  the  wet  fields  and  raised 
channels  of  water  in  the  roads.  Coquette  had  no  covering 
of  any  sort.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  drenched  ;  and  yet 
she  did  not  seem  to  care.  She  only  staggered  on  blindly,  in 
the  frantic  hope  of  reaching  Saltcoats  before  the  night  fell. 
She  would  not  go  to  meet  Lord  Earlshope.  She  wrould  creep 
into  some  hovel ;  and  then,  in  the  morning,  send  a  message 
of  repentance  to  her  uncle  ;  and  go  away  somewhere  ;  and 
never  see  any  more  the  relations  and  friends  whom  she  had 
betrayed  and  disgraced. 

Nevertheless,  she  still  went  recklessly  on,  her  eyes  con- 
fused by  the  rain,  her  brain  a  prey  to  wild  and  despairing 
thoughts. 

The  storm  grew  in  intensity.  The  roar  of  the  heavy  surf 
could  now  be  heard  far  over  the  cry  of  the  wind  ;  and  the 
rain-clouds  came  across  the  sea  in  huge  masses,  and  were 
blown  down  upon  the  land  in  hissing  torrents.  And  still 
Coquette  struggled  on. 

At  last  she  saw  before  her  the  lights  of  Saltcoats.  But 
the  orange  points  seemed  to  dance  before  her  eyes.     There 


COQUETTE  FORSAKES  HER  FRIENDS.     309 

was  a  burning  in  her  head.  And  then,  with  a  faint  cry  of 
"  Uncle,  uncle  !  "  she  sank  down  by  the  roadside. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels. 
A  waggonette  was  stopped  just  in  front  of  her,  and  a  man 
jumped  down. 

"  What  is  the  matter  wi'  ye,  my  lass  ?  Bless  me,  is  it  you, 
Miss  Cassilis !  " 

The  girl  was  quite  insensible,  however  ;  and  the  man,  who 
happened  to  know  Miss;Cassilis,  lost  no  time  in  carrying  her 
to  the  waggonette,  and  driving  her  to  his  own  house,  which 
was  but  a  few  hundred  yards  farther  on,  at  the  entrance  to 
the  town.  There  his  wife  and  one  of  the  servants  restored 
Coquette  to  consciousness,  and  had  her  wet  clothes  taken  off, 
and  herself  put  to  bed.  The  girl  seemed  already  feverish,  if 
not  delirious. 

"  But  what  does  she  say  of  herself  ?  "  asked  this  Mr. 
M'Henry,  when  his  wife  came  down.  "  How  did  she  come 
to  be  on  the  way  to  Saltcoats  a'  by  herself  ?  " 

"  That  I  dinna  ken,"  said  his  wife  ;  "  but  the  first  words 
she  spoke  were,  *  Take  me  back  to  Airlie,  to  my  uncle.  I 
will  not  go  to  Saltcoats.' " 

"  I  would  send  for  the  Minister,"  said  the  husband,  "  but 
no  human  being  could  win  up  to  Airlie  on  such  a  nicht.  We 
will  get  him  down  in  the  morning." 

So  Coquette  remained  in  Saltcoats  that  night.  Under 
Mrs.  M'Henry's  treatment,  the  fever  abated  ;  and  she  lay 
during  the  darkness,  and  listened  to  the  howling  of  the 
storm  without.    Where  was  Lord  Earlshope  ? 

"  I  hope  he  has  gone  away  by  himself  to  America,  and 
that  I  will  never  see  him  again,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
"  But  I  can  never  go  back  to  Airlie  any  more." 

CHAPTER  LI. 

A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA. 

Next  morning  there  was  a  great  commotion  in  Saltcoats. 
Despite  the  fierce  gusts  of  wind  that  were  still  blowing, 
accompanied  by  squally  showers  of  rain,  numbers  of  people 
were  out  on  the  long  stretch  of  brown  sand  lying  south  of 
the  town.    Mischief  had  been  at  work  on  the  sea  over- 


310  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

night.  Fragments  of  barrels,  bits  of  spars,  and  other 
evidences  of  a  wreck  were  being  brought  in  by  the  waves  ; 
and  two  smacks  had  even  put  out  to  look  around  for  any 
larger  remains  of  the  lost  vessel  or  vessels.  Mr.  M'Henry 
was  early  abroad  ;  for  he  had  gone  into  the  town  to  get  a 
messenger ;  and  so  he  heard  the  news.  At  last,  amid  the 
gossiping  of  the  neighbours,  he  learned  that  a  lad  had  just 
been  summoned  by  a  certain  Mrs.  Kilbride  to  go  up  on  an 
errand  to  Airlie,  and  he  resolved  to  secure  his  services  to 
carry  the  message. 

Eventually,  he  met  the  lad  on  his  way  to  the  moorland 
village  ;  and  then  it  turned  out  that  the  errand  was  merely 
to  carry  a  letter  to  Miss  Cassilis,  at  the  Manse. 

"  But  Miss  Cassilis  is  at  my  house,"  said  Mr.  M'Henry. 
"  Give  me  the  letter,  and  gang  you  on  to  the  Manse  and  ask 
Mr.  Cassilis  to  come  down  here." 

So  the  lad  departed,  and  the  letter  was  taken  up  and  placed 
on  the  table  where  Coquette  was  to  have  her  breakfast. 

She  came  down,  looking  very  pale  ;  and  she  would  give 
no  explanation  of  how  she  came  to  be  out  on  such  a  night. 
She  thanked  them  for  having  sent  for  her  uncle,  and  sat 
down  at  the  table,  but  ate  nothing. 

Then  she  saw  the  letter,  and  with  a  quick,  pained  flush 
of  colour  leaping  to  her  cheeks,  she  took  it  up  and  opened 
it  with  trembling  fingers.     She  read  these  words — 

"  Dearest, — I  cannot  exact  from  you  the  sacrifice  of  your 
life.  Remorse  and  misery  for  all  the  rest  of  our  years 
would  be  the  penalty  to  both  of  us  by  your  going  with  me 
to-night,  even  though  you  might  put  a  brave  face  on  the 
matter,  and  conceal  your  anguish,  I  cannot  let  you  suffer 
that,  Coquette.  I  will  leave  for  America  by  myself  ;  and  I 
will  never  attempt  to  see  you  again.  That  promise  I  have 
broken  before  ;  but  it  will  not  be  broken  this  time.  Good- 
bye, Coquette.  My  earnest  hope  is  that  you  will  not  come 
to  Saltcoats  to-night  ;  and,  in  that  case,  this  letter  will  be 
forwarded  to  you  in  the  morning.  Forgive  me,  if  you  can, 
for  all  the  suffering  I  have  caused  you.  I  will  never  forget 
you,  my  dearest  love,  but  I  will  never  see  England  or  you 


again. 


"  Earlshope." 


A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA.  311 

There  was  almost  a  look  of  joy  on  her  face. 

"  So  I  did  not  vex  him,"  she  thought,  "  by  keeping  him 
in  anxiety  and  fear  ?  And  he  has  conquered  too  ;  and  he 
will  think  better  of  himself  and  of  me  away  over  there,  for 
many  years  to  come,  if  he  does  not  forget  all  about  Airlie." 

But  that  reference  to  Airlie  recalled  the  thought  of  her 
uncle,  and  of  his  meeting  with  her.  As  the  time  drew  near 
for  his  approach,  she  became  more  and  more  downcast. 
When,  at  last,  the  old  man  came  into  the  room,  where  she 
was  sitting  alone,  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  she 
dared  not  raise  them. 

He  went  over  to  her,  and  placed  his  hand  on  her  head. 

"  What  is  all  this,  Catherine  ?  Did  you  miss  your  way 
last  night  ?  What  made  ye  go  out  on  such  a  wild  evening, 
without  saying  a  word  to  any  one  ?  " 

She  replied  in  a  low  voice,  which  was  yet  studiously 
distinct — 

"  Yesterday  afternoon  I  went  away  from  the  Manse,  not 
intending  to  go  back." 

The  Minister  made  a  slight  gesture  as  if  some  twinge  had 
shot  across  his  heart ;  and  then,  looking  at  her  in  a  sad  and 
grave  way,  he  said — 

"  I  did  not  think  I  had  been  unkind  to  you,  Catherine." 

This  was  too  much  for  Coquette.-  It  broke  down  the 
obduracy  with  which  she  had  been  vainly  endeavouring  to 
fortify  herself ;  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  her  uncle  ;  and, 
with  wild  tears  and  sobs,  told  him  all  that  had  happened, 
and  begged  him  to  go  away  and  leave  her,  for  she  had 
become  a  stranger  and  an  outcast.  Stunned  as  the  old 
man  was  by  these  revelations,  he  forgot  to  express  his  sense 
of  her  guilt.  He  saw  only  before  him  the  daughter  of  his 
own  brother — a  girl  who  had  scarce  a  friend  in  the  world 
but  himself — and  she  was  at  his  feet  in  tears,  and  shame, 
and  bitter  distress.  He  raised  her,  and  put  her  head  on  his 
breast,  and  tried  to  still  her  sobbing. 

"  Catherine,"  he  said,  with  his  own  voice  broken,  "  you 
shall  never  be  an  outcast  from  my  house,  so  long  as  you 
care  to  accept  its  shelter." 

"  But  I  cannot  go  back  to  Airlie — I  cannot  go  back  to 
Airlie  ! "  she  said,  almost  wildly.  "  I  will  not  bring 
disgrace  upon  you,  uncle  ;  and  have  the  people  talk  of  me, 


312  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

and  blame  you  for  taking  me  back.  I  am  going  away — I 
am  not  fit  to  go  back  to  Airlie  !  You  have  been  very  good 
to  me — far  better  than  I  deserve  ;  but  I  cannot  tell  you 
now  that  I  love  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  me — 'for  now  it 
is  a  disgrace  for  me  to  speak  to  any  one " 

"  Hush,  Catherine,"  he  said.  "  It  is  penitence,  not  des- 
pair, that  must  fill  your  heart.  And  the  penitent  has  not  to 
look  to  man  for  pardon,  nor  yet  to  fear  what  may  be  said  of 
him  in  wrath.  They  that  go  elsewhere  for  forgiveness  and 
comfort  have  no  reason  to  dread  the  ill-tongues  of  their 
neighbours.  *  They  looked  unto  Him,  and  were  lightened  ; 
and  their  faces  were  not  ashamed.  This  poor  man  cried, 
and  the  Lord  heard  him,  and  saved  him  out  of  all  his 
troubles.'  Out  of  all  of  them,  Catherine.  You  will  go 
back  to  Airlie  with  me,  my  bairn.  Perhaps  you  do  not 
feel  at  home  there  yet — three  years  is  not  a  long  time  to 
get  accustomed  to  a  new  country.  I  am  told  ye  sometimes 
cried  in  thinking  about  France,  just  as  the  Jews  in  captivity 
did,  when  they  said,  '  By  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  there  we 
sat  down  ;  yea,  we  wept,  when  we  remembered  Zion.'  But 
maybe  I  have  erred  in  not  making  the  house  lichtsome 
enough  for  ye.  I  am  an  old  man  ;  and  the  house  is  dull, 
perhaps.  But  if  ye  will  tell  me  how  we  can  make  it 
pleasanter  to  ye " 

"  Oh,  uncle,  you  are  breaking  my  heart  with  your  kind- 
ness !  "  she  sobbed  ;  "  and  I  deserve  none  of  it — none  of  it !  " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  Minister  persuaded 
her  to  go  back  with  him  to  the  Manse.  At  length, 
however,  a  covered  carriage  was  procured,  and  Coquette 
and  her  uncle  were  driven  up  to  Airlie.  The  girl  sat  now 
quite  silent  and  impassive  ;  only  when  she  saw  any  one  of 
the  neighbours  coming  along  the  road,  she  seemed  nervously 
anxious  to  avoid  scrutiny.  When  they  got  up  to  the  gate 
of  the  Manse,  which  was  open,  she  walked  quietly  and 
sadly  by  her  uncle's  side  across  the  bit  of  garden  into  the 
house,  and  was  then  for  going  upstairs  by  herself.  Her 
uncle  prevented  her. 

"  Ye  must  come  and  sit  wi'  me  for  a  little  while,  until 
Leezibeth  has  got  some  breakfast  ready  for  ye." 

"  I  do  not  want  anything  to  eat,"  said  Coquette  ;  and 
she  seemed  afraid  of  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 


A  SECRET  OF  THE  SEA,  313 

" Nevertheless,"  said  the  Minister,  "I  would  inquire 
further  into  this  matter,  Catherine.  It  is  but  proper  that 
I  should  know  what  measure  of  guilt  falls  upon  that  young 
man  in  endeavouring  to  wean  away  a  respectable  girl  from 
her  home  and  her  friends." 

Coquette  drew  back,  with  some  alarm  visible  on  her  face. 

"  Uncle,  I  cannot  tell  you  now.  Some  other  time 
perhaps  ;  but  not  now — not  now.  And  you  must  not 
think  him  guilty,  uncle — it  is  I  who  am  guilty  of  it  all — he 
is  much  better  than  any  of  you  think — and  now  he  is  away 
to  America,  and  no  one  will  defend  him  if  he  is  accused." 

At  the  moment  that  she  spoke,  Lord  Earlshope  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  accusation  and  defence.  The  Saltcoats 
people,  towards  the  afternoon,  discovered  the  lid  of  a  chest 
floating  about,  and  on  it  was  painted  in  white  letters  the 
word  Caroline.  Later,  there  came  a  telegram  from  Greenock 
to  the  effect  that  during  the  preceding  night  the  schooner 
yacht  Caroline  had  been  run  down  and  sunk  in  mid-channel, 
by  a  steamer  going  to  Londonderry ;  and  that,  of  all  on 
board  the  yacht,  the  steamer  had  been  able  to  pick  up  only 
one  of  the  crew.  And  that  same  night  the  news  made  its 
way  up  to  Airlie,  and  circulated  through  the  village,  and  at 
length  reached  the  Manse.  Other  rumours  accompanied  it. 
For  the  moment,  no  one  dared  to  tell  Coquette  of  what  had 
happened  ;  but  none  the  less  was  her  flight  from  the  Manse 
connected  with  this  terrible  judgment ;  and  even  Leezibeth, 
struck  dumb  with  shame  and  grief,  had  no  word  of  protest 
when  Andrew  finished  his  warnings  and  denunciations. 

"  There  is  no  healing  of  thy  bruise,"  said  Leezibeth  to 
herself  sadly,  in  thinking  of  Coquette.  "  Thy  wound  is 
grievous  :  all  that  hear  the  bruit  of  thee  shall  clap  the 
hands  over  thee." 

CHAPTER  LII. 

CONSENT. 

Sharp  and  bitter  was  the  talk  that  ran  through  Airlie 
about  the  Minister's  niece  ;  and  Coquette  guessed  at  it ;  and 
shrank  away  from  the  people  ;  and  would  fain  have  hidden 
herself  from  the  light,  as  one  accursed.  Now  indeed  she 
knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  ban  placed  upon  her  ;  and  all 


3H  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  old  fearless  consciousness  of  rectitude  had  gone ;  so 
that  she  could  no  longer  attempt  to  win  over  the  people  to 
her  by  patience,  and  sweetness,  and  the  charm  of  her 
pleasant  ways.  She  had  fallen  too  far  in  her  own  esteem  ; 
and  Leezibeth  began  to  be  alarmed  about  the  effects  of 
that  calm  and  reticent  sadness,  which  had  grown  to  be  the 
normal  expression  of  Coquette's  once  light  and  happy  face. 

It  Avas  Leezibeth  who  unintentionally  confirmed  the 
worst  surmises  of  the  villagers,  by  begging  the  Minister 
to  conceal  from  Coquette  the  knowledge  of  Earlshope's 
tragic  death.  The  Minister,  anxious  above  all  things  for 
the  girl's  health,  consented  ;  and  it  then  became  necessary 
to  impose  silence  on  those  who  were  likely  to  meet 
Coquette  elsewhere.  So  it  became  known  that  mention  of 
Lord  Earlshope  was  not  to  be  made  to  this  quiet  and  pale- 
faced  girl,  who  still,  in  spite  of  her  sadness,  had  something 
of  a  proud  air,  and  looked  at  people  with  dark  and  troubled 
eyes,  as  though  she  would  ask  them  what  they  thought 
of  her. 

Whether  this  policy  of  silence  were  advisable  or  not,  it 
was  certainly  not  very  prudent  to  conceal  from  the  Whaup 
likewise  all  intelligence  of  what  had  happened.  He  had 
heard  of  Lord  Earlshope's  death,  of  course  ;  and  was  a 
little  surprised  to  be  asked  not  to  mention  the  matter  in 
his  letters  to  Coquette ;  but,  beyond  that,  he  was  in 
complete  ignorance  of  all  that  had  occurred  at  Airlie. 
By-and-by  however  rumours  came  to  him.  He  began  to 
grow  uneasy.  Finally,  he  saw  Lady  Drum ;  and  she, 
seeing  the  necessity  of  being  explicit,  told  him  everything 
in  as  gentle  a  way  as  she  could. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  "my  cousin  is  looked  upon  as  an 
outcast ;  and  the  good  people  of  Airlie  say  evil  things  of 
her  ;  and  I  suppose  wonder  why  she  dares  go  into  the 
church  ?  "  • 

Lady  Drum  made  no  reply ;  he  had  but  described  the 
truth. 

Then  the  Whaup  rose  up,  like  a  man,  and  said — 

"  Lady  Drum,  I  am  going  down  to  Airlie  to  get 
Coquette  to  marry  me ;  and  I  will  take  her  away  from 
there ;  and  the  people  may  talk  then  until  their  rotten 
tongues  drop  out." 


CONSENT.  315 

Lady  Drum  rose  too,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
and  said  gently — 

"  If  I  were  a  man  that  is  what  I  would  do.  Off  wi'  ye 
to  Airlie  directly,  and  whether,  she  say  yes  or  no,  bring  her 
away  wi'  ye  as  your  wife.  That  will  mend  a  great  many 
i  natters." 

So  the  Whaup  went  down  to  Airlie  ;  and  all  the  way  in 
the  train  his  heart  was  on  lire  with  varied  emotions  of 
pity,  and  anger,  and  love  ;  and  his  brain  was  busy  with 
plans  and  schemes.  He  would  have  liked  another  year's 
preparation,  perhaps  ;  but  his  position  now  with  regard  to 
Dr.  Menzies  was  fully  secured  ;  and  his  income,  if  not  a 
very  big  one,  sufficient  for  the  meantime.  And  wThen  he 
arrived  at  Airlie,  and  reached  the  Manse,  he  made  no 
inquiries  of  anybody  ;  he  went  at  once,  in  his  old  straight- 
forward way,  into  the  room  where  he  expected  to  find 
Coquette. 

Coquette  was  alone  ;  and,  when  he  opened  the  door,  he 
found  her  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

"  Oh,  Coquette,  you  are  ill !  "  he  said,  seizing  both  her 
hands  and  looking  into  her  face. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  ill.  You  must  not  vex 
yourself  about  me — it  is  only  I  have  not  been  much  out  of 
late." 

"  Ah,  I  know  why  you  have  not  been  out,"  he  said ; 
"  and  I  am  come  down  to  put  all  these  things  straight. 
Coquette,  you  must  marry  me  now.  I  won't  go  away 
unless  you  go  with  me  as  my  wife.  That  is  what  I  have 
come  down  for." 

The  girl  started,  as  though  a  whip  had  stung  her  ;  and 
now  a  Hush  of  shame  and  pain  was  visible  in  her  face. 
She  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  said,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down — 

"I  understand  why  you  have  come.  You  know  what 
they  say  of  me.  You  wish  to  marry  me  to  prove  it  is 
not  true,  and  give  me  some  better  opinion  of  myself. 
That  is  very  good  of  you — it  is  what  I  did  expect  of  you — 
but — but  I  am  too  proud  to  be  married  in  that  way,  and  I 
do  not  wish  any  sacrifice  from  anybody." 

M  What  is  the  use  of  talking  like  that,  Coquette  ?  "  he 
said,  impetuously.     "  What  has  sacrifice  or  pride  got  to  do 


3i6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

between  you  and  me  ?  Why  need  you  care  what  the 
people  at  Airlie,  or  the  people  all  over  the  world,  think  of 
you  ?  I  am  going  to  take  you  away  from  here,  Coquette. 
I  will  teach  you  what  to  think  of  yourself,  and  then  you 
will  talk  no  more  of  sacrifice.  Sacrifice  !  If  there  is  any 
sacrifice,  it  is  in  your  thinking  of  marrying  a  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  like  me.  It  is  like  a  princess  marrying 
a  gamekeeper,  or  something  like  that ;  and  you  talk  of 
sacrifice,  and  what  the  wretched  idiots  of  a  ridiculous 
little  village  think  of  you  !  It  is  absurd,  Coquette  !  It 
all  comes  of  your  being  shut  up  here,  and  seeing  nothing, 
and  being  left  to  your  own  dreams.  You  are  getting 
distorted  views  of  everything  in  this  dismal  place.  It's 
like  conducting  experiments  in  a  vacuum  :  what  you  want 
is  to  get  braced  up  by  the  actual  atmosphere  of  the  world  ; 
and  learn  how  things  work  there  ;  and  discover  the  value 
that  people  will  put  upon  you.  What  can  the  croaking 
frogs  of  a  marsh  like  this  know  of  your  value,  Coquette  ? 
Don't  you  remember  how  you  wrent  about  Lady  Drum's 
rooms  like  a  queen ;  and  everybody  waited  on  you  ;  and 
I  scarcely  dared  come  near  you  ?  Sacrifice  !  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Coquette  !  " 

He  spoke  in  the  old  and  rapid  fashion  with  which  she 
used  to  be  familiar  ;  and  his  cheeks  were  flushed  with 
enthusiasm  ;  and  his  handsome  face  full  of  daring  and 
confidence,  as  though  he  would  have  laughed  at  her 
scruples  and  defied  the  world  for  her  sake.  Perhaps  he 
did  not  despise  Airlie  altogether  as  much  as  he  said  ;  but 
in  the  hot  haste  of  his  eloquence  there  was  no  time  to  be 
particular,  or  even  just. 

"  You  are  as  impetuous  as  ever  ;  and  you  are  as  generous 
as  ever  ;  but  you  are  grown  no  wiser,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  in  a  kindly  way.  "  For  me,  I  have  grown  much  older 
than  when  we  went  about  here.  I  do  see  many  things 
differently  ;  and  just  now  I  must  tell  you  what  is  right  and 
best  for  both  of  us.  You  must  not  say  any  more  about  our 
marriage  ;  but  go  up  to  Glasgow  again,  and  forget  all  about 
me.  If  it  is  painful  for  you  in  the  meantime,  I  am  sorry  ; 
it  will  be  better  for  you  by-and-by.  If  you  did  marry  a 
wife  who  had  not  a  good  name  among  all  people — strangers 
as  well — you  might  not  care  for  a  little  while  ;  but  you 


CONSENT.  317 

would  remember  of  it  afterwards ;  and  that  would  be  very- 
sorrowful  for  both." 

With  that  she  rose  and  would  have  passed  him,  and  gone 
to  the  door.  But  he  stood  in  her  way,  and  confronted  her, 
and  said,  with  a  certain  formality  of  tone — 

"You  must  answer  me  one  question,  Coquette,  clearly 
and  truthfully.  Is  all  that  you  say  merely  an  excuse  for 
breaking  off  our  marriage  altogether  ?  " 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  Then  you  do  no  longer  believe  I  speak  the  truth  ?  An 
excuse; — that  is  something  untrue.  No — I  have  no  need  of 
excuses." 

She  would  have  left  the  room  then  ;  but  he  caught  her 
hand  and  said — 

"  We  are  no  longer  children,  Coquette.  This  is  too 
serious  a  matter  to  be  settled  by  a  mere  misunderstanding 
or  a  quarrel.  I  want  to  know  if  you  have  no  other  reason 
to  postpone  our  marriage,  or  break  it  up  altogether,  than 
the  foolish  talk  that  prevails  in  the  village  ?  " 

"You  do  forget,"  she  said,  evidently  forcing  herself  to 
speak  in  a  cold  and  determined  manner,  "  that  the  people 
have  some  right  to  talk — that  I  did  go  away  from  the 
Manse,  expecting " 

She  could  get  no  further.  She  shuddered  violently  ;  and 
then,  sitting  down,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  know  all  about  that,  Coquette,"  he  said,  sadly.  "  It 
was  very  bitter  for  me  to  hear  it " 

"And  then  you  did  come  here,  despising  me,  and  yet 
wishing  to  marry  me,  so  that  I  might  not  be  too  cast  down. 
It  is  very  generous — but  you  see  it  is  impossible." 

M  And  you  mean  that  as  a  final  answer,  Coquette  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his. 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Coquette,"  said  he. 

Anxious  as  was  her  scrutiny,  she  could  not  tell  how  he 
received  this  announcement ;  but  the  tone  in  which  he  bade 
her  good-bye  went  like  a  knife  through  her  heart.  She 
held  out  her  hand  and  said,  or  was  about  to  say,  "  Good- 
bye,"i  when,  somehow,  she  failed  to  reach  his  hand,  and 
the  room  swam  round  her.  Then  there  was  a  space  of 
blank  unconsciousness  ;   followed  by  the  slow  breathing  of 


318  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

returning  life  ;  and  she  knew  that  he  was  bathing  her 
forehead  with  a  handkerchief  and  cold  water. 

"  You  must  not  go  away  like  that,"  she  said  to  him,  when 
she  had  somewhat  recovered  ;  "  I  have  not  many  friends." 

And  so,  sitting  down  besidej  her,  he  began  to  tell  her,  in 
a  gentle  and,  at  times,  somewhat  embarrassed  voice,  the 
story  of  his  love  for  her,  and  all  the  plans  he  had  formed, 
and  how  his  only  hope  in  the  world  was  to  marry  her.  He 
did  not  care  what  lay  in  the  past ;  the  future  was  to  be 
theirs  ;  and  he  would  devote  himself  to  making  her  once 
more  the  light-hearted  Coquette  of  former  days.  He  spoke 
to  her  as  if  afraid  to  disturb  her  even  by  the  urgency  of  his 
affection ;  and  while  he  talked  in  this  low  and  earnest 
fashion,  the  girl's  eyes  were  wistful  and  yet  pleased,  as  if 
she  were  looking  at  the  pictures  he  drew  of  a  happy  future 
for  both  of  them,  and  beginning  to  believe  in  their 
possibility. 

"People  have  sorrows  and  disappointments,  you  know, 
Coquette,"  he  said ;  "  and  yet  they  forget  them  in  great 
measure,  for  it  is  useless  to  spend  a  lifetime  in  looking 
back.  And  people  do  weak  things  and  wrong  things  that 
haunt  their  conscience  and  trouble  them  bitterly  ;  but  even 
these  are  lightened  by  time.  And  the  ill  opinion  of  the 
world — that,  too,  gets  removed  by  time  ;  and  all  the  old 
years,  with  their  griefs,  and  their  follies,  and  mistakes,  get 
wiped  out.  You  are  too  young  to  think  that  life  has  been 
irretrievably  spoiled  for  you.  You  have  got  another  life  to 
set  out  on ;  and  you  may  depend  on  my  making  it  as 
pleasant  and  as  happy  as  possible  if  you  will  only  give  me 
the  chance." 

"  You  do  talk  as  if  it  was  my  pleasure  and  happiness  I  did 
think  of,"  said  Coquette.  "  No — that  is  not  so.  When  I 
did  say  I  would  not  marry  you — it  was  for  your  sake  ;  and 
then,  when  you  seemed  to  be  going  away  estranged  from 
me,  I  thought  I  would  do  anything  to  keep  you  my  friend. 
So  I  will  now.  Is  that  all  true  you  say,  my  poor  boy, 
about  your  caring  only  for  one  thing  in  the  world  ?  Will 
your  life  be  wretched  if  I  am  not  your  wife  ?  Because 
then  I  will  marry  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Ah  !  do  you  say  that,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  flash 
of  joy  in  his  eyes. 


CONSENT.  319 

There  was  no  such  joy  visible  on  her  face. 

"  If  you  could  say  to  yourself,"  she  added,  calmly,  "  after 
a  little  time,  '  I  will  keep  Coquette  as  my  friend — as  my 
best  friend  —but  I  will  marry  some  other  one,'  that  would  be 
!•;  ttei  for  you." 

"  It  would  be  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  said,  cheerfully, 
"  nor  for  you  either.  I  am  about  to  set  myself  the  task  of 
transforming  you,  Coquette ;  and  in  a  year  or  two  you 
won't  know  yourself  !  " 

"  In  a  year  or  two,"  she  repeated,  thoughtfully. 

"  You  know  I  am  a  doctor  now  ;  and  I  am  going  to 
become  your  attendant  physician  ;  and  I  will  prescribe  for 
you,  Coquette,  plenty  of  amusement  and  holidays  ;  and  of 
course  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  that  my  orders  are  obeyed. 
And  you  will  forget  everything  that  is  past  and  gone  ;  for  I 
will  give  you  plenty  to  think  about  in  managing  the  details 
of  the  house,  you  know,  and  arranging  for  people  coming 
to  see  you  in  the  evenings.  And  then,  in  the  autumn-time, 
Coquette,  you  will  get  as  brown  as  a  berry  among  the 
valleys  and  the  mountains  of  Switzerland  ;  and  if  we  come 
through  France,  you  shall  be  interpreter  for  me,  and  take 
the  tickets,  you  know,  and  complain  to  the  landlords.  All 
that,  and  ever  so  much  more,  lies  before  you  ;  and  what  we 
have  to  do  in  the  meantime  is  to  get  you  away  from  this 
melancholy  place,  that  has  been  making  you  wretched,  and 
pale,  and  sad.  Now,  Coquette,  tell  me  when  I  am  to  take 
you  away  !  " 

She  rose  with  almost  an  expression  of  anguish  on  her 
face. 

"  Ah,  not  yet,  not  yet !  "  she  said.  "  You  will  think  over 
it  first — perhaps  you  will  alter  your  intentions." 

"I  shan't  do  anything  of  the  kind,  Coquette,  unless  you 
alter  yours.  Mind  you,  I  don't  mean  to  goad  you  into 
marrying  me  ;  and  if  you  say  now  that  it  vexes  you  to  think 
of  it " 

"  It  docs  not  vex  me,  if  it  will  make  you  happy,"  she  said. 

"  Then  you  don't  wish  to  rescind  your  promise  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  it." 

"And  you  will  really  become  my  wife,  Coquette  ? " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice — 


32o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  will  be  your  wife  if  you  wish  it,  and  make  you  as 
happy  as  I  can ;  but  not  yet,  Tom — not  yet ;  and  you 
must  not  be  vexed  if  I  cannot  set  a  time." 

With  that  she  left  the  room  ;  and  he  flung  himself  into  a 
chair  to  ponder  over  his  recollections  of  an  interview  which 
seemed  very  strange  and  perplexing  to  him.  "  It  does  not 
vex  me,  if  it  will  make  you  happy  " — that  was  all  he  could 
get  her  to  say.  No  expression  of  interest — no  hopeful  look 
— suoh  as  a  girl  naturally  wears  in  talking  of  her  coming 
marriage.  And  these  moods  of  fear,  of  despondency,  even 
bordering  on  wild  despair,  what  did  they  mean  ? 

"  There  is  something  altogether  wrong  in  her  relations 
with  the  people  around  her,"  he  said.  "  She  seems  to 
labour  under  a  burden  of  self-constraint  and  of  sadness 
which  would  in  another  year  kill  a  far  stronger  woman 
than  she  is.  The  place  does  not  suit  her — the  people  don't 
suit  her.  Everything  seems  to  have  gone  wrong  ;  and  the 
Coquette  I  see  bears  no  resemblance  to  the  Coquette  who 
came  here  a  few  years  ago.  Whatever  it  is  that  is  wrong, 
our  marriage  will  solve  the  problem,  and  transfer  her  to  a 
new  sphere  and  new  associations." 

The  Whaup  endeavoured  to  reassure  himself  with  these 
anticipations ;  but  did  not  quite  succeed,  for  there  was  a 
vague  doubt  and  anxiety  hanging  about  his  mind  which 
would  not  be  exorcised. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE   PALE   BRIDE. 

The  Whaup  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Menzies  for  permission 
to  remain  in  Airlie  another  couple  of  days,  and  received  it. 
He  made  good  use  of  his  time.  Some  brief  conversation 
he  had  with  Leezibeth  in  regard  to  Coquette  quickened  his 
resolve.  He  went  to  his  father,  too,  and  told  him  of  his  wishes. 

The  old  man  could  at  first  scarce  credit  this  strange  an- 
nouncement. He  had  never  even  suspected  his  son  of  being 
particularly  fond  of  Coquette;  and  now  his  first  idea  was  that 
the  Whaup,  in  an  exceptionally  chivalrous  fashion,  had  pro- 
posed to  marry  her  as  an  answer  to  the  evil  rumours  that 
were  afloat.      He  was  soon  disabused  on  this  point.     Con- 


THE  PALE  BRIDE.  321 

fidences  at  such  a  crisis,  between  father  and  son,  are  some- 
what embarrassing  things,  particularly  in  most  Scotch 
households,  where  reticence  on  all  matters  of  the  affections 
is  the  established  law  ;  but  the  Whaup  was  too  deeply  in 
earnest  to  think  of  himself.  With  a  good  deal  of  rough 
eloquence,  and  even  a  touch  of  pathos  here  and  there,  he 
pleaded  the  case  of  Coquette  and  himself ;  and  at  the  end 
of  it  the  Minister,  who  was  evidently  greatly  disturbed,  said 
he  would  consider  the  subject  in  privacy.  The  Whaup  left 
his  father's  study  with  a  light  heart  ;  he  knew  that  the 
Minister's  deep-seated  tenderness  for  his  niece  would  carry 
the  day,  were  all  Airlie  to  sign  a  protest. 

The  Whaup  was  in  the  garden.  His  brothers  were  at 
school ;  Coquette  had  disappeared,  he  knew  not  whither  ; 
and  he  was  amusing  himself  by  whistling  in  reply  to  a 
blackbird  hid  in  a  holly  tree.  The  Minister  came  out  of 
the  house,  and  gravely  walked  up  to  his  son,  and  said — 

"  You  have  done  well  in  this  matter.  I  do  not  say  that, 
under  other  circum  tai.ces,  I  might  not  have  preferred  seeins: 
you  marry  a  wife  of  your  own  country,  and  one  accustonu  d 
to  our  ways  and  homely  fashion  of  living,  and,  above  all, 
one  having  more  deeply  at  heart  our  own  traditions  of 
faith.  But  your  duty  to  your  own  kinswoman — who  is 
suffering  from  the  suspicions  of  the  vulgar — must  count  for 
something " 

"  But  what  counts  most  of  all,  father,"  said  the  Whaup 
— who  would  not  have  it  thought  he  was  conferring  a 
favour  on  Coquette — "  is  her  own  rare  excellence.  Where 
could  I  get  a  wife  like  her  ?  I  don't  care  twopence-farthing 
for  all  that  Airlie,  and  a  dozen  neighbouring  parishes,  may 
think  or  say  of  her,  when  I  know  her  to  be  what  she  is. 
And  you  know  what  she  is,  father  ;  and  the  best  thing  you 
can  do  for  her  is  to  persuade  her  to  be  married  as  soon  as 
possible — for  I  mean  to  take  her  away  from  here,  and  see  if 
I  cannot  break  that  sort  of  dead  calm  that  seems  to  have 
settled  over  her." 

"  The  Manse  will  be  very  lonely  without  her,"  said  the 
Minister. 

"  Look  here,  father,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  great  lump 
rising  in  his  throat,  "  the  Manse  would  be  very  lonely  if  she 
were  to  remain  as  she  is  much  longer.      Leezibeth  says  she 

Y 


322  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

eats  nothing — she  never  goes  out — only  that  dull,  uncom- 
plaining monotony  of  sadness,  and  the  listless  days,  and  the 
reading  of  religious  books.  I  know  how  that  would  end  if 
it  went  on — and  I  don't  mean  to  let  Coquette  slip  out  of 
our  fingers  like  that — and  I " 

The  Whaup  could  say  no  more.  He  turned  aside,  and 
began  to  idck  the  gravel  with  his  foot.  The  Minister  put 
his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder  and  said — > 

"  My  boy,  you  may  have  more  watchful  eyes  than  mine  in 
such  matters  ;  and,  if  this  be  as  you  suspect,  I  will  use  all 
my  influence  with  her,  although  her  marriage  will  make  a 
great  difference  to  me." 

The  Whaup,  however,  was  not  one  to  have  his  wooing 
done  by  proxy.  During  the  remainder  of  his  brief  stay  in 
Airlie,  he  urged  Coquette  with  gentleness,  and  yet  with 
earnestness,  to  fix  a  time  for  their  marriage.  At  first  she 
was  startled  by  the  proposal,  and  avoided  it  in  a  frightened 
way ;  but  at  length  she  seemed  to  be  won  over  by  his 
representations  and  entreaties.  He  did  not  tell  her  his 
secret  reason  for  thus  hurrying  on  her  departure  from  Air- 
lie.  It  was  entirely  as  securing  his  own  happiness  that  he 
drew  pleasant  pictures  of  the  future  ;  that  he  sat  and  talked 
to  her  of  all  she  would  see  when  they  went  away  together  ; 
that  he  endeavoured  to  win  her  consent.  Then,  on  the  last 
evening  of  his  visit,  they  were  in  a  corner  of  the  hushed 
parlour,  speaking  in  low  tones,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
reading  of  the  Minister. 

"  I  do  think  it  isva  great  misfortune  that  you  are  so  fond 
of  me,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  rather  wistful  eyes  ; 
"  but  it  seems  as  if  the  world  were  all  misfortune  ;  and  if  it 
will  make  you  happy  for  me  to  marry  you,  I  will  do  that ; 
for  you  have  always  been  very  kind  to  me  ;  and  it  is  very 
little  that  I  can  do  in  return  ;  but  if  this  will  please 
you,  I  am  glad ;  and  I  will  make  you  as  good  a  wife  as 
I  can." 

That  was  her  reply  to  his  entreaties  ;  and,  in  token  of 
her  obedience,  she  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 
There  was  something  in  this  mute  surrender  that  was 
inexpressibly  touching  to  the  Whaup ;  and  for  a  moment 
his  conscience  smote  him  ;  and  he  asked  himself  if  he  were 
not  exacting  too  much  of  a  sacrifice  from  this  tender- 


THE  PALE  BRIDE.  323 

hearted  girl,  who  sat  pale  and  resigned  even  in  the  moment 
of  settling  her  marriage  clay. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  am  I  robbing  you  of  any  other 
happiness  that  you  could  hope  for  ?  Is  there  any  other 
prospect  in  life  that  you  are  secretly  wishing  for  ?  " 

"  There  is  not,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"None  ? " 

"None." 

"  Then  I  will  make  this  way  of  it  as  happy  for  you 
as  I  possibly  can.  And  when,  Coquette  ?  You  have  never 
named  a  time  yet." 

"  Let  it  be  whenever  you  please,"  she  answered,  looking 
down. 

The  Whaup  rose,  and  pulled  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
as  if,  for  the  first  time,  he  could  breathe  freely. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  have  you  any  objection  to  my  going 
across  the  moor  and  ringing  the  church  bell  ?  " 

The  Minister  looked  up  from  his  MSS. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  wedding  in  the  Manse  in  two 
or  three  weeks,"  said  the  Whaup. 

Coquette  went  over  to  the  old  man's  chair,  and  knelt 
down  by  his  side,  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  Catherine  ;  but  I  trust  you 
will  be  more  cheerful  and  happy  in  your  new  home  than 
you  could  be  in  this  dull  house." 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  uncle,"  she  said. 

With  that,  the  Whaup  went  outside,  and  clambered  up 
into  the  hayloft,  and  roused  his  brothers,  who  were  in  bed, 
if  not  all  asleep. 

"  Get  up,  the  whole  of  you  !  "  he  said ;  "  get  on  your 
clothes,  and  come  into  the  house.  Look  sharp — there's 
something  for  you  to  hear." 

Leezibeth  was  alarmed  by  the  invasion  of  the  Manse 
which  took  place  shortly  thereafter  ;  and  came  running  to 
Bee  what  had  brought  the  boys  in  at  that  time  of  night. 
The  Whaup  bade  Leezibeth  come  into  the  parlour  to 
witness  the  celebration  ;  and  they  were  introduced  by 
the  Whaup — who  made  a  pretty  speech — to  their  future 
sister-in-law ;  and  they  were  ordered  to  give  her  good 
wishes ;  and  then  they  all  sat  down  to  a  sumptuous, 
if    hastily    prepared,    banquet    of    currant    bun,   with  a 

y  2 


324  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

glass  of  raspberry  wine  to  each  of  them.  Coquette 
was  pleased  ;  and  the  tinge  of  colour  that  came  to  her 
cheeks  made  the  Whaup  think  she  was  beginning  to  look 
like  a  bride.  As  for  the  boys,  they  expressed  their  delight 
chiefly  by  grinning  and  showing  their  white  teeth  as  they 
ate  the  cake  ;  one  of  them  only  remarking  confidentially — 

"  We  a'  kenned  this  would  be  the  end  o't." 

The  chorus  of  laughter  which  greeted  this  remark  showed 
that  it  expressed  a  general  sentiment.  Nor  was  their  merri- 
ment lessened  when  the  Whaup  cut  off  a  very  small  piece  of 
cake,  and  said  to  Leezibeth — 

"  Take  this  to  Andrew,  with  my  compliments.  He  will  be 
delighted  with  the  news." 

"  Andrew  or  no  Andrew,"  said  Leezibeth,  who  seemed 
rather  inclined  to  cry  out  of  pure  sympathy  ;  "ye  may  be  a 
proud  man  on  your  wedding  day,  Maister  Tammas  ;  and 
ye'll  take  good  care  o'  her,  and  bring  her  sometimes  down  to 
Airlie,  where  there's  some  maybe  that  likes  her  better  than 
they  can  just  put  into  words." 

And  so  it  was  that,  on  a  fresh  June  morning,  when  the 
earth  lay  warm  and  silent  in  the  bright  sunshine,  and  the  far 
sea  was  as  blue  and  clear  as  the  heart  of  a  sapphire,  Coquette 
arrayed  herself  in  white  garments.  There  was  a  great  stir 
about  the  Manse  that  morning  ;  and  the  boys  were  dressed 
in  their  Sunday  clothes.  Flowers  were  all  about  the  place  ; 
and  many  innocent  little  surprises  in  the  way  of  decoration 
had  been  planned  by  the  Whaup  himself.  The  Manse 
looked  quite  bright,  indeed ;  and  Leezibeth  had  assumed  an 
unwonted  importance. 

Coquette's  bridesmaids  were  the  Misses  Menzies  ;  and  the 
Doctor  was  there  too ;  also  Lady  Drum  and  Sir  Peter. 
According  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  the  marriage  was  to 
take  place  in  the  house  ;  and  when  they  had  all  assembled  in 
the  largest  room,  the  bride  walked  slowly  in,  followed  by  her 
bridesmaids. 

In  a  church,  amid  a  crowd  of  spectators,  there  would  have 
been  a  murmur  of  wonder  and  admiration  over  the  myste- 
rious and  pensive  beauty  of  this  delicately  modelled  girl, 
whose  dark  and  wistful  eyes  seemed  all  the  darker  by  reason 
of  the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  dress,  and  the  paleness  of  the 


THE  PALE  BRIDE.  325 

pearls  that  shone  in  the  splendid  luxuriance  of  her  hair. 
But  her  friends  there  almost  forgot  how  beautiful  she  wafl 
in  regarding  the  expression  of  her  face — so  immovably  calm 
it  was,  so  strangely  sad.  Lady  Drum's  heart  was  touched 
with  a  sudden  fear.  This  was  not  the  look  of  a  bride  ; 
but  the  look  of  a  woman — far  too  young  to  have  any  such 
expression — who  seemed  to  have  abandoned  all  hope  in 
1  his  world.  She  was  not  anxious,  or  perturbed,  or  pale 
through  any  special  excitement  or  emotion ;  she  stood 
throughout  the  long  and  tedious  service  as  though  she  were 
unconscious  of  what  was  happening  ;  and,  when  it  was 
over,  she  received  the  congratulations  of  those  around  her 
as  though  she  had  awakened  out  of  a  dream. 

The  Whaup,  too,  noticed  this  look  ;  but  he  had  seen 
much  of  it  lately  ;  and  was  only  rendered  the  more  anxious 
to  take  her  away  and  lighten  her  spirits  by  change  of  scene. 
And  now  that  he  found  himself  able  to  do  so,  he  was  full  of 
confidence.  There  was  no  misgiving  in  his  look.  As  he 
stood  there,  taller  by  a  head  than  his  own  father,  with  his 
light-brown  hair  thrown  carelessly  back  from  a  face  bright 
with  health  and  the  tanning  of  the  sun,  it  was  apparent  that 
the  atmosphere  of  the  great  city  had  not  had  much  effect  on 
the  lithe,  and  stalwart,  and  vigorous  frame.  And  his  voice 
wafl  as  gentle  as  that  of  a  woman  when  he  went  forward, 
for  the  first  time  after  the  ceremony,  and  said  to  Coquette — 

"  You  are  not  tired  with  standing  so  long,  Coquette  ?  " 

She  started  slightly.  Then — perhaps  noticing  that  the 
eyes  of  her  bridesmaids  were  upon  her,  and  recollecting  that 
slie  ought  to  wear  a  more  cheerful  expression — she  smiled 
faintly,  and  said — 

"  Yon  must  not  call  me  that  foolish  name  any  more. 
It  is  part  of  the  old  time  when  we  were  girl  and  boy 
ther." 

"  But  I  shall  never  find  any  name  for  you  that  I  shall  like 
better,"  said  he. 

About  an  hour  thereafter  all  preparations  had  been  made 
for  their  departure;  and  the  carriage  was  waiting  for  them. 
There  was  a  great  shaking  of  hands,  and  kissing,  and  leave- 
taking  ;  and  then,  last  of  all,  the  Minister  stood  by  the  gate 
as  Coquette  came  out. 

k>  Good-bye,  my  dear  daughter,"  he  said,  placing  his  hand 


326  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

on  her  head ;  "  may  He  that  watched  over  Jacob,  and 
followed  him  in  all  his  wanderings  with  blessings,  watch 
over  and  bless  you  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  !  " 

Coquette's  lips  began  to  tremble.  She  had  maintained  her 
composure  to  the  last ;  but  now,  as  she  kissed  her  uncle,  she 
could  not  say  farewell  in  words  ;  and  when  at  length  she  was 
driven  away,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Coquette,"  said  her  husband,  "  are  you  sorry,  after  all, 
to  leave  Airlie  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  but  the  sound  of  her  sobbing. 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

HUSBAND   AND    WIFE. 

So  blinded  by  his  exceeding  happiness  was  the  Whaup, 
that  for  a  little  time  he  could  scarcely  tell  how  the  rapid 
change  of  scene  and  incident  following  their  marriage  was 
affecting  Coquette's  health  and  spirits.  He  was  so  near 
her  now,  tending  her  with  an  extreme  and  anxious  care, 
that  he  could  not  regard  her  critically  and  judge 
whether  the  old  sad  look  was  leaving  her  eyes.  Did  she 
not  express  her  pleasure  at  the  various  things  she  saw  ? 
Was  she  not  so  very  kind  and  affectionate  towards  him  that 
he  had  to  protest  against  her  little  submissive  attentions, 
and  point  out  that  it  was  his  business  to  wait  upon  her, 
not  hers  to  wait  upon  him  ? 

They  went  to  Edinburgh  first ;  and  then  to  Westmore- 
land ;  and  then  to  London,  which  was  in  the  height  of  the 
season.  And  they  strolled  into  the  Park  on  the  summer 
mornings  and  on  the  busier  afternoons ;  and  sat  on  the 
little  green  chairs  under  the  lime-trees  ;  and  looked  at  the 
brilliant  assemblage  of  people  there — Cabinet  Ministers, 
actresses,  Gun-club  heroes,  authors,  artists,  and  all  the  rank 
and  file  of  fashion.  So  eager  was  the  Whaup  to  interest 
his  companion,  that  it  is  to  be  feared  he  made  rather 
random  shots  in  identifying  the  men  and  women  who  were 
cantering  up  and  down,  and  conferred  high  official  dignities 
on  harmless  country  gentlemen  who  were  but  simple  M.P.'s. 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  327 

"  There  are  many  pretty  ladies  here,"  said  Coquette,  with 
a  smile,  "  and  yet  you  do  not  seem  to  know  one." 

"  I  know  one  who  is  prettier  than  them  all  put  together," 
said  the  AYhanp,  with  a  glow  of  pride  and  admiration  in  his 
face  ;  and  then  he  added,  "  I  say,  Coquette,  how  did  you 
manage  to  dress  just  like  those  people  when  you  lived  away 
down  in  Airlie  ?  I  think  you  must  have  sent  surrepti- 
tiously to  London  for  the  dresses  that  used  to  astonish  the 
quiet  kirk-folk.  Then  you  always  had  the  knack  of 
wearing  a  flower  or  a  rosebud  here  or  there,  just  as  those 
ladies  do,  only  I  don't  think  any  flowers  are  so  becoming 
as  those  little  yellow  blossoms  that  are  on  a  certain  little 
white  bonnet  that  a  particular  little  woman  I  know  wears 
at  this  moment." 

"  Ah,  it  is  of  no  use,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  sigh  of 
resignation.  "  I  have  tried — I  have  lectured — I  have 
scolded — it  is  of  no  use.  You  do  not  know  the  rudeness 
of  talking  of  people's  dresses,  and  paying  them  rough 
compliments  about  their  prettiness,  and  making  inquiries 
which  gentlemen  have  nothing  to  do  with.  I  have  tried 
to  teach  you  all  this — and  you  will  not  learn — and  you  do 
not  know  that  you  have  very  savage  manners." 

"Coquette,"  said  he,  "  if  you  say  another  word  I  will 
kiss  you." 

"  And  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  she  answered,  with  the 
slightest  possible  shrug.  "  I  do  not  think  you  have  any 
more  respect  for  the  public  appearances  than  when  you  did 
torment  the  people  at  Airlie.  You  are  still  a  boy — that 
is  true — and  I  do  wonder  you  will  not  sing  aloud  now, 
*  Come  lasses  and  lads,'  or  some  such  folly.  You  have 
grown — yes.  You  wear  respectable  clothes  and  a  hat, 
— but  it  is  I  who  have  made  you  dress  like  other  people 
instead  of  the  old  careless  way.  You  do  know  something 
more — but  it  is  all  got  out  of  books.  What  are  you 
different  from  the  tall,  big,  coarse,  rude  boy  who  did 
break  windows,  and  rob  gardens,  and  frighten  people  at 
Airlie  ?  " 

"  How  am  I  different  ?  "  said  the  Whanp.  "  Well,  I  used 
to  be  bullied  by  a  schoolmaster  ;  but  now  I'm  bullied  by  a 
schoolmistress  ;  and  she's  the  worse  of  the  two.  That'sall 
the  change  I've  made." 


328  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

And  sometimes,  when  they  had  gone  on  in  this  bantering 
fashion  for  a  while,  she  would  suddenly  go  up  to  him — if 
they  were  indoors,  that  is  to  say — and  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm  and  timidly  hope  that  she  had  not  annoyed  him.  At 
first  the  Whaup  laughed  at  the  very  notion  of  his  being 
vexed  with  her,  and  dismissed  the  tender  little  penitent 
with  a  rebuke  and  a  kiss  ;  but  by-and-by  he  grew  to  dread 
these  evidences  of  a  secret  wish  to  please  him  and  be  sub- 
missive. He  began  to  see  how  Coquette  had  formed  some 
theory  of  what  her  duties  were,  and  continually  referred  to 
this  mental  table  of  obligations  rather  than  to  her  own 
spontaneous  impulses  of  the  moment.  She  seemed  to 
consider  that  such  and  such  things  were  required  of  her ; 
and  while  there  was  something  to  him  very  touching  in  her 
mute  obedience,  and  in  her  timid  anticipation  of  his  wishes, 
he  would  rather  have  beheld  her  the  high-spirited  Coquette 
of  old,  with  her  arch  ways,  and  her  fits  of  rebellion  and 
independence. 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  have  you  wait  upon  me 
like  this.  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  you  know  ;  but  it  is 
turning  the  world  upside  down.  It  is  my  business  to  wait 
on  you,  and  see  that  everything  is  made  nice  for  you,  and 
have  you  treated  like  a  queen.  And  when  you  go  about 
like  that,  and  bother  yourself  to  serve  me,  I  feel  as  uncom- 
fortable as  the  beggars  in  old  times  must  have  felt  who  had 
their  feet  washed  by  a  pious  princess.  I  won't  have  my 
Coquette  disguised  as  a  waiting-maid." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  he  replied.  "  Who  could  help  being  good 
to  you,  Coquette  ?  You  seem  to  have  got  into  your  head 
some  notion  that  you  owe  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  to 
the  people  around  you  ;  whereas  you  are  conferring  a  benefit 
on  everybody  by  being  merely  what  you  are,  and  showing 
those  around  you  what  a  good  thing  is  a  good  woman. 
Why  should  you  have  this  exaggerated  humility  ?  Why 
should  you  play  the  part  of  a  penitent  ?  " 

Was  she  playing  the  part  of  a  penitent  ?  he  sometimes 
asked  himself.  Had  she  not  forgotten  the  events  of  that 
bygone  time  which  seemed,  to  him  at  least,  a  portion  of  a 
former  existence  ?  When  the  Whaup  and  his  young  wife 
returned  to  Glasgow,  he  had  more  leisure  to  speculate  on 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  329 

this  matter  ;  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  not  only 
had  she  forgotten  nothing,  but  that  a  sombre  shadow  from 
the  past  was  ever  present  to  her  and  hung  continually  over 
her  life. 

In  no  way  did  she  lessen  her  apparent  desire  to  be  dutiful 
and  submissive  and  attentive  to  him.  The  Whaup,  who 
could  have  fallen  at  her  feet  and  kissed  them  in  token  of 
the  love  and  admiration  he  felt  for  the  beautiful  young  life 
that  was  only  now  revealing  to  him  all  its  hidden  graces  of 
tenderness,  and  purity,  and  rectitude,  could  not  bear  to 
have  Coquette  become  his  slave. 

"  And  may  I  not  show  to  you  that  I  am  grateful  to  you 
for  all  your  kindness  ever  since  I  did  come  to  this  country  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Grateful  to  me  !  "  he  cried.  "  Coquette,  you  don't  know 
your  own  value  1 " 

"  But  if  it  pleases  me  to  be  your  servant  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It  does  not  please  me,"  he  retorted  ;  "  and  I  won't  have 
it." 

"  Yoyez  un  peu  ce  tyran  !  "  said  Coquette,  and  the  Whaup 
laughed  and  gave  in. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  that  was  not  a  very  unhappy 
household  in  which  the  only  ground  of  quarrel  between 
husband  and  wife  was  as  to  which  should  be  the  more  kind 
and  attentive  to  the  other.  And  indeed,  to  all  outward 
semblance,  the  Whaup  was  the  luckiest  of  men  ;  and 
his  friends  who  did  not  envy  him  rejoiced  at  his  good 
fortune ;  and  bore  unanimous  testimony  to  the  sweetness 
and  gentleness  and  courtesy  of  the  small  lady  who  received 
them  at  his  house.  It  was  noticed,  it  is  true,  that  she  was 
very  quiet  and  reserved  at  times  ;  and  that  occasionally, 
when  she  had  somehow  withdrawn  out  of  the  parlour  circle, 
silent  and  dhtfuite,  her  husband  would  follow  her  with 
anxious  looks,  and  would  even  go  to  her  side  and  endeavour 
to  wean  her  back  into  the  common  talk.  As  for  Ins  affec- 
tion for  her,  and  pride  in  her  rare  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments, and  devotion  to  her,  all  were  the  subject  of 
admiration  and  encomium  among  the  women  of  many 
households,  lie  never  sought  to  conceal  his  sentiments  on 
that  score.  On  the  rare  occasions  when  he  visited  a  friend's 
house  without  her",  all  his   talk  was  of  Coquette,  and  her 


330  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

goodness,  and  her  gentle  ways.  Then  he  endeavoured  to 
draw  around  her  as  many  friends  as  possible,  so  that  their 
society  might  partly  supply  the  void  caused  by  his  pro- 
fessional absences  ;  but  Coquette  did  not  care  for  new 
acquaintances,  and  declared  she  had  always  plenty  of 
occupation  for  herself  while  he  was  away,  and  did  not  wish 
the  distraction  of  visits. 

Down  in  the  old  Manse  of  Airlie  the  Minister  heard 
of  his  son  and  of  Coquette  through  various  channels  ; 
and  he  was  rejoiced  beyond  measure.  Lady  Drum  was  so 
affected  by  her  own  description  of  the  happiness  of  these 
two  young  people,  that  in  the  middle  of  her  narration  she 
burst  into  tears  ;  and  a  sort  of  sob  at  the  door  might  have 
let  the  Minister  know  that  Leezibeth  had  been  listening. 
The  Minister,  indeed,  paid  a  brief  visit  to  Glasgow  some 
few  weeks  after  Coquette's  return,  and  was  quite  over- 
whelmed by  the  affectionate  attentions  of  his  daughter-in- 
law. 

"  Surely,"  he  said  to  Lady  Drum,  the  evening  before  he 
set  out  for  home  again,  "  surely  the  Lord  has  blessed  this 
house.  It  has  never  been  my  good  fortune  to  dwell  under 
a  roof  that  seemed  to  look  down  on  so  much  of  kindliness, 
and  charitable  thoughts,  and  well-doing  ;  and  it  would  ill 
become  me  not  to  say  how  much  of  this  I  attribute  to  her 
who  is  now  more  than  ever  a  daughter  to  me." 

"  When  I  come  to  speak  of  her,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  and 
of  the  way  she  orders  the  house,  and  of  her  kindness  to 
every  one  around  her,  and  of  her  conduct  towards  her 
husband,  I  am  fair  at  a  loss  for  words." 

The  bruit  of  all  these  things  reached  even  down  to  Airlie ; 
and  the  Schoolmaster  was  at  length  induced,  being  in 
Glasgow  on  a  certain  occasion,  to  call  on  the  Minister's 
son.  The  Whaup  received  his  ancient  enemy  with  royal 
magnanimity ;  compelled  him  to  stop  the  night  at  his  house ;. 
gave  him  as  much  toddy  as  was  good  for  an  elder ;  while 
Coquette,  at  her  husband's  request,  left  her  fancy-work  and 
played  for  them  some  old  Scotch  airs.  By-and-by  she  left 
them  to  themselves  ;  and,  warmed  with  the  whisky,  the 
Schoolmaster  imparted  a  solemn  and  mysterious  secret  tD 
his  remaining  companion. 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  sir,  and  have  no  knowledge,  or, 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  331 

as  I  may  term  it,  experience,  of  the  great  and  wonderful 
power  of  public  opeenion.  Nor  yet,  considering  your 
opportunities,  is  it  likely,  or,  as  one  might  say,  probable, 
that  ye  pay  sufficient  deference  to  the  reputation  that  your 
neebors  may  accord  ye.  Nevertheless,  sir,  reputation  is  a 
man's  public  life,  as  his  own  breath  is  his  private  life. 
Now,  I  will  not  conceal  from  ye,  Mr.  Thomas,  that  evil 
apprehensions  have  been  entertained,  or  even,  one  might  say, 
expressed,  in  your  native  place,  regarding  one  who  holds  an 
important  position  as  regards  your  welfare " 

With  which  the  Whaup  bounced  up  from  his  chair. 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  he.  "  Do  you  mean  my  wife,  Mr. 
Gillespie  ?  Don't  think  I  care  a  rap  for  the  drivelling 
nonsense  that  all  the  old  women  in  Airlie  may  talk  ;  but  if 
a  man  mentions  anything  of  the  kind  to  me,  by  heavens,  I'll 
throw  him  out  of  the  window  !  " 

"  Bless  me  !  "  cried  the  Schoolmaster,  also  rising,  and 
patting  his  hands  before  him  as  if  to  defend  himself. 
"  What's  the  use  o'  such  violence  ?  I  meant  no  harm.  On 
the  contrary,  I  was  going  to  say,  man,  that  it  would  be  my 
bounden  duty  when  I  get  back  to  Airlie  to  set  my  face 
against  all  such  reports,  and  testify  to  the  great  pleasure  I 
have  experienced  in  seeing  ye  mated  wi'  such  a  worthy, 
and  amiable,  and " 

Here  the  Schoolmaster's  encomium  was  cut  short  by  the 
entrance  of  Coquette  herself,  who  had  returned  for  some- 
thing she  had  forgotten  ;  and  a  more  acute  observer  might 
have  noticed  that  no  sooner  was  her  footfall  heard  at 
the  door  than  all  the  anger  fled  from  the  Whaup's  face, 
and  he  only  laughed  at  Mr.  Gillespie's  protestations  of 
innocence. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  said  the  "Whaup,  good- 
naturedly.  "You  know,  I  married  one  of  the  daughters 
of  Heth  ;  and  so  I  had  to  expect  that  the  good  folks  at 
Airlie  would  l»c  deeply  pprieved. 

"A  daughter  of  Heth  !  "  said  Mr.  Gillespie.  "Indeed, 
I  remember  that  grumbling  body.  Andrew  Bogoe,  makin1 
use  o'  some  such  expression  on  the  very  day  ye  were 
married  ;  but  if  the  daughters  o'  Hah  were  such  as  she  is, 
Kebekah  need  not  have  put  herself  about,  or,  in  other 
words,  been  so  apprehensive  of  her  son's  future." 


332  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

And  the  Schoolmaster  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  and  took 
down  to  Airlie  such  a  description  of  the  Whaup  and  his 
bride  as  became  a  subject  of  talk  in  the  village  for  many  a 
day.  And  so  the  patience  and  the  gentleness  of  Coquette 
bore  their  natural  fruit,  and  all  men  began  to  say  all  good 
things  of  her. 

There  was  one  man  only  who  regarded  this  marriage 
with  doubt,  and  sometimes  with  actual  fear,  who  was  less 
sure  than  all  the  others  that  Coquette  was  happy,  and  who 
looked  to  the  future  with  an  anxious  dread.  That  one  man 
was  the  Whaup  himself.  With  a  slow  and  sad  certainty, 
the  truth  dawned  on  him  that  he  had  not  yet  won 
Coquette's  love  ;  that  he  was  powerless  to  make  her  forget 
that  she  had  married  him  in  order  to  please  him  ;  and  that, 
behind  all  her  affectionate  and  friendly  demonstrations 
towards  himself,  there  lay  over  her  a  weight  of  despair. 
The  discovery  caused  him  no  paroxysm  of  grief,  for  it  was 
made  gradually  ;  but  in  time  it  occupied  his  constant 
thoughts,  and  became  the  dark  shadow  of  his  life.  For 
how  was  he  to  remove  this  barrier  that  stood  between 
himself  and  Coquette  ?  The  great  yearning  of  love  he  felt 
towards  her  was  powerless  to  awaken  any  response  but  that 
mute,  animal-like  faithfulness  and  kindliness  that  dwelt  in 
her  eyes  whenever  she  regarded  him.  And  it  was  for  her, 
rather  than  for  himself,  that  he  was  troubled.  He  had 
hurried  on  the  marriage,  hoping  a  change  of  scene  and  of 
interest  would  break  in  on  the  monotony  of  sadness  that 
was  evidently  beginning  to  tell  on  the  girl's  health.  He 
had  hoped,  too,  that  he  would  soon  win  her  over  to  himself 
by  cutting  her  away  from  those  old  associations.  What 
was  the  result  ?  He  looked  at  the  pale  and  calm  face,  and 
dared  not  confess  to  himself  all  that  he  feared. 

One  evening,  entering  suddenly,  he  saw  that  she  tried  to 
avoid  him  and  get  out  of  the  room.  He  playfully  inter- 
cepted her,  and  found,  to  his  astonishment,  that  she  had 
been  crying. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  sitting  by  myself — ■ 
and  thinking,  that  is  all." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  said,  with  an  infinite 
sadness  in  his  look — 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  333 

"  Do  you  know,  Coquette,  that  for  some  time  back  I  have 
been  thinking  that  our  marriage  has  made  you  miserable." 

"Ah,  do  not  say  that !  "  she  said, piteously  looking  up  in 
his  face.     "I  am  not  miserable  if  it  has  made  you  happy." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  can  be  happy  when  I  see  you  trying 
to  put  a  good  face  on  your  wretchedness,  and  yet  with  your 
eyes  apparently  looking  on  the  next  world  all  the  time  ? 
Coquette,  this  is  driving  me  mad.  What  can  I  do  to  make 
you  happy  ?  Why  are  you  miserable  ?  "Won't  you  tell 
me  ?  You  know  I  won't  be  angry,  whatever  it  is.  Is  there 
nothing  we  can  do  to  bring  you  back  to  the  old  Coquette, 
that  used  to  be  so  bright  and  cheerful  ?  Coquette,  to  look 
at  you  going  about  from  day  to  day  in  that  sad  and  re- 
signed way,  never  complaining,  and  always  pretending  to  be 
quite  content — I  can't  bear  it,  my  darling." 

"You  must  not  think  that  I  am  miserable,"  she  said, 
very  gently,  and  then  she  left  the  room.  He  looked  after 
her  i<>r  a  moment  ;  then  he  sank  into  a  chair ;  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

THE  CHUCHYARD  ON  THE  MOOR. 

At  last  it  occurred  to  him  that  Coquette  ought  to  be  told 
of  Lord  Earlshope's  death.  He  would  not  confess  to 
himself  the  reason  why  such  a  thought  arose  in  his  mind  ; 
but  endeavoured,  on  the  contrary,  to  persuade  himself  that 
there  was  no  further  need  for  holding  back  that  old  secret. 
He  and  Coquette  were  at  Airlie  at  the  time,  on  their  first 
visit  after  their  marriage.  The  Minister  was  anxious  to  see 
his  daughter-in-law  ;  and  the  YVhaup,  while  she  stayed 
there,  would  take  occasional  runs  down.  So  Coquette  was 
ing  at  the  Ma: 

"  I  cannot  get  her  to  go  out  as  she  used  to  do,"  said  the 
Minister,  the  first  time  the  Whaup  arrived  from  Glasgow. 
"She  serins  better  pleased  to  sit  at  the  window  by  herself 
and  look  over  the  moor ;  and  Leeziheth  tells  me  she  is  in 
very  low  spirits,  and  does  not  look  particularly  well.  It  is 
a  pity  she  dislikes  going  out ;  it  is  with  difficulty  I  can  get 
her  even  into  the  garden  ;  and  once  or  twice  she  has  shown 


334  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

a  great  repugnance  to  going  anywhere  near  Earlshope,  so 
you  must  not  propose  to  go  in  that  direction  in  asking  her 
to  accompany  you." 

Then  the  Whaup  said,  with  averted  eyes  :  "  You  know 
she  is  not  aware  of  Lord  Earlshope  having  been  drowned, 
and  she  may  be  afraid  of  meeting  him.  Suppose  we  tell  her 
of  what  happened  to  the  yacht  ?  " 

"  I  am  of  opinion  it  would  be  most  advisable,"  said  the 
Minister. 

The  Whaup  got  Coquette  to  go  out  and  sit  in  the  garden  ; 
and  there,  while  they  were  by  themselves,  he  gently  told 
her  of  the  loss  of  the  Caroline.  The  girl  did  not  speak  nor 
stir  ;  only  she  was  very  pale  ;  and  he  noticed  that  her  hand 
was  tightly  clenched  on  the  arm  of  the  wooden  seat.  By- 
and-by  she  rose  and  said — 

"I  should  like  to  walk  down  to  Saltcoats,  if  you  will 
come." 

"  To  Saltcoats  ! "  said  her  husband.  "  You  are  not 
strong  enough  to  walk  all  that  way  and  back,  Coquette." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  submissively. 

"  But  if  you  very  much  want  to  go  we  could  drive,  you 
know,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  go,"  she  said. 

So  the  Whaup,  late  as  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  got  out 
the  dog-cart,  and  drove  her  away  to  the  old-fashioned  little 
seaport  town  which  they  had  together  visited  in  bygone 
years.  He  put  the  horse  up  at  the  very  inn  that  he  and 
Coquette  had  visited  ;  and  then  he  asked  her  if  she  wished 
to  go  for  a  stroll  through  the  place.  Her  slightest  wish 
was  a  command  to  him.  They  Avent  out  together  ;  and  in- 
sensibly she  led  him  down  to  the  long  bay  of  brown  sand  on 
which  a  heavy  surf  was  now  breaking.  She  had  spoken  but 
little  ;  her  eyes  were  wistful  and  absent ;  and  she  seemed 
to  be  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  waves. 

"  It  blows  too  roughly  here,  Coquette,"  said  he.  "  You 
won't  go  down  on  the  beach  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  Here  I  can  see  more,  and  hear  more." 

For  a  considerable  time  she  stood  and  looked  far  over  the 
heaving  plain  of  water,  which  was  of  a  dark  green  colour, 
under  the  cloudy  evening  sky.  And  then  she  shuddered 
slightly,  and  turned  to  go  away. 


THE  CHURCHYARD  ON  THE  MOOR.  335 

"  You  are  not  vexed  with  me  for  coming  ? "  she  said. 
"And  you  know  why  I  did  come." 

"  I  am  not  vexed  with  anything  you  do,  Coquette,"  he 
answered  her. 

"  It  is  his  grave,"  she  said,  looking  once  more  over  the 
wild  waste  of  waters.  "  It  is  a  terrible  grave ;  for  there 
are  voices  in  it,  and  cries,  like  drowning  people  ;  and  yet 
one  man  out  there  would  go  down  and  down,  and  you  would 
hear  no  voice.     I  am  afraid  of  the  sea." 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  You 
must  come  away  directly,  or  you  will  catch  cold — the  wind 
blows  so  fiercely  here." 

But  on  their  way  back  to  Airlie,  this  trembling  had 
increased  to  violent  fits  of  shuddering ;  and  then  all  at 
once  Coquette  said  faintly — 

"  I  do  feel  that  I  should  wish  to  be  still  and  go  to  sleep. 
Will  you  put  me  down  by  the  roadside,  and  leave  me  there 
awhile,  and  you  can  go  on  to  Airlie  ?  " 

"  Why,  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying,  Coquette  ? 
60  on  to  Airlie,  and  leave  you  here  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  him  ;  and  he  urged  on  the  pony 
with  all  speed,  until  at  length  they  reached  the  Manse. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  must  carry  me  in." 

He  lifted  her  down  from  the  vehicle,  and  carried  her 
like  a  child  into  the  house  ;  and  then,  when  Leezibcth 
brought  a  light,  he  uttered  a  slight  cry  on  finding  that 
Coquette  was  insensible.  But  presently  life  returned  to 
her,  and  a  quick  and  flushed  colour  came  to  her  face.  She 
was  rapidly  got  to  bed  ;  and  the  Minister,  who  had  a  vivid 
recollection  of  the  feverish  attack  from  which  she  had 
Buffered  in  the  north,  proposed  that  a  doctor  from  Saltcoats 
should  be  sent  for. 

"And  I  will  telegraph  to  Dr.  Menzies,"  said  the  "Whaup, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  said,  only  possessed  by  some  wild 
notion  that  he  would  form  a  league  to  drive  off  this  subtle 
enemy  that  had  approached  Coquette. 

All  that  followed  that  memorable  evening  was  a  dream  to 
him.  He  knew,  beeause  he  was  told,  and  because  he  him- 
self could  see,  that  the  fever  was  laying  a  deeper  and  deeper 
hold  on  a  system  which  was  dangerously  weak.  Day  after 
day  he  went  about  the  house ;  and,  as  Coquette  got  worse,  he 


336  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

scarcely  realised  it.  It  was  to  him  as  though  a  weight  out 
of  the  sky  were  crushing  down  the  world,  as  if  all  things 
were  slowly  sinking  into  darkness.  He  was  not  excited,  nor 
wild  with  grief  ;  but  he  sat  and  watched  Coquette's  eyes  ; 
and  seemed  not  to  know  the  people  who  came  into  the  room, 
or  whom  he  met  on  the  stairs. 

The  girl,  in  her  delirium,  had  violent  paroxysms  of  terror 
and  shuddering,  in  which  she  seemed  to  see  a  storm  rising 
around  her,  and  waves  threatening  to  overwhelm  her ;  and 
then  no  one  could  soothe  her  like  her  husband.  His  mere 
presence  seemed  enough  ;  for  the  old  instinct  of  obedience 
still  remained  with  her  ;  and  she  became  submissively  quiet 
and  silent  in  answer  to  his  gentle  entreaties. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  murmured  absently  to 
him  one  evening,  half -recognising  him  although  the  delirium 
had  not  left  her,  "  and  I  cannot  thank  you  for  it,  but  my 
mamma  will  do  that  when  you  come  up  to  our  house.  We 
shall  not  stop  in  this  country  always  ? — when  mamma  is 
waiting  for  me  in  the  garden,  just  over  the  river,  you  know. 
.  .  .  And  she  has  not  seen  you,  but  I  will  take  you  up  to  her, 
and  say  you  have  been  very,  very  kind  to  me.  I  wish  we 
could  be  there  soon,  for  I  am  tired,  and  I  do  think 
this  country  is  very  dark,  and  the  sea  is  so  dreadful  round 
about  it — it  goes  round  about  it  like  a  snake,  that  hisses,  and 
raises  its  fierce  head,  and  it  has  a  white  crest  on  its  head  and 
eyes  of  fire,  and  you  see  them  glaring  in  the  night-time. 
But  one  can  get  away  from  it ;  and  hide  close  and  quiet  in 
the  churchyard  on  the  moor — yes,  yes  ;  and  when  you  come 
in,  Tom,  by  the  small  gate,  you  must  listen,  and  whisper 
'  Coquette,'  you  know,  just  as  you  used  to  do  when  I  lay  on 
the  sofa,  and  you  wished  to  see  if  I  were  awake  ;  and — and 
— if  I  cannot  speak  to  you,  it  will  be  very  hard,  but  I  shall 
know  you  have  brought  me  some  flowers.  And  you  will  say 
to  yourself,  'My  poor  Coquette  would  thank  me  if  she 
could.' " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  white  fingers.   He  could  not  speak. 

By-and-by  the  delirium  left,  and  the  fever  abated  ;  but 
the  frail  system  had  been  shattered,  and  all  around  saw 
that  she  was  slowly  sinking.  One  night  she  beckoned  her 
husband  to  come  nearer,  and  he  went  to  her,  and  took  her 
thin  hand  in  his. 


THE  CHURCHYARD  ON  THE  MOOR.         337 

"  Am  I  going  to  die,  Tom  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice  ;  and  when,  in  answer,  he  only  looked  at  her 
sad  eyes,  she  said,  "  I  am  not  sorry.  It  will  be  better  for 
you  and  for  every  one.  You  will  forgive  me  for  all  that 
happened  at  Airlie  when  you  think  of  me  in  after-times ; 
and  you  will  not  blame  me  because  I  could  not  make  your 
life  more  happy  to  you — it  was  all  a  misfortune,  my  coming 
to  this  country " 

"  Coquette,  Coquette  !  "  he  said,  beside  himself  with  grief, 
"  if  you  are  going  to  die,  I  will  go  with  you  too — see,  I  will 
hold  your  hand,  and  when  the  gates  are  open,  I  will  not 
let  you  go — I  will  go  with  you,  Coquette  ! " 

Scarce  half  an  hour  afterwards,  the  gates  were  opened, 
and  she  so  quietly  and  silently  passed  through,  that  he  only 
of  all  in  the  room  knew  that  Coquette  had  gone  away  from 
them  and  bidden  a  last  farewell  to  Airlie.  They  were 
startled  to  see  him  fling  his  arms  in  the  air  ;  and  then  as 
he  sank  down  by  the  bed  a  low  cry  broke  from  his  lips — 
"  So  near — so  near  !  and  I  cannot  go  with  her  too  !  " 

One  day,  in  the  early  spring-time,  you  might  have  seen 
a  man  in  the  prime  of  youth  and  strength — yet  with  a 
strangely  worn  look  on  his  face — enter  the  small  church- 
yard on  Airlie  moor.  He  walked  gently  on,  as  if  fearing 
to  disturb  the  silence  of  the  place  ;  and  at  last  he  stood  by 
the  side  of  a  grave  on  which  were  many  spring  flowers — 
snowdrops,  and  violets,  and  white  crocuses.  He,  too,  had 
some  flowers  in  his  hand  ;  and  he  put  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  grave  ;  and  there  were  tears  running  down  his  face. 

"  These  are  for  my  Coquette,"  he  said ;  "  but  she 
cannot  hear  me  any  more." 

For  a  little  while  he  lingered  by  the  grave,  and  then  he 
turned.  And,  lo  !  all  around  him  was  the  fair  and  shiniun 
country  that  she  had  often  looked  on  ;  and  far  away  before 
him  lay  the  sea,  as  blue  and  as  still  as  on  the  morning  when 
he  and  Coquette  were  married.  How  bright  and  beautiful 
was  the  world  that  thus  lay  under  the  clear  sunshine,  with 
all  its  thousand  activities  busily  working,  and  its  men  and 
women  joyously  thinking  of  to-morrow,  as  if  to-morrow 
were  to  be  better  than  to-day.  To  him  all  the  light  and 
joy  of  the  universe  seemed  to  be  buried  in  the  little  grave 

z 


338  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

beside  him  ;  there  would  never  come  any  morrow  that  could 
bring  him  back  the  wonder  of  the  days  that  were.  He 
walked  to  the  gate  of  the  churchyard,  and,  leaning  on  it, 
looked  wistfully  over  the  azure  plain  in  which  the  mountains 
of  Arran  were  mirrored. 

"  Why  have  they  taken  away  from  us  the  old  dreams  ?  " 
he  said  to  himself,  while  his  eyes  were  wet  with  bitter  tears. 
"  If  one  could  only  believe,  as  in  the  old  time,  that  Heaven 
was  a  fair  and  happy  island  lying  far  out  in  that  western 
sea,  how  gladly  would  I  go  away  in  a  boat,  and  try  to  find 
my  Coquette  !  Only  to  think  that  some  day  I  might  see 
the  land  before  me,  and  Coquette  coming  down  to  tbe 
shore,  with  her  face  grown  wonderful  and  calm,  and  her 
gentle  eyes  full  of  joy  and  of  welcome.  Only  to  believe  that 
— only  to  look  forward  to  that — would  be  enough  ;  and  if 
in  the  night-time  a  storm  came,  and  I  was  sunk  in  the 
darkness,  whatf  matter,  if  I  had  been  hoping  to  the  last 
that  I  should  see  my  Coquette  ? " 


THE   END. 


LONDON.1  FBINTED  BY   WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,   LIMITED, 
ITAMFOBD   STREET  AND  CHARINO  CBOSS. 


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